The Killing Moon
by NeverNever
Summary: Harry Potter's saving-people-thing is set to become the bane of Draco Malfoy's life - alongside Dark Lords, werewolves, ex-teachers, Horcruxes and not-dead-enough ancestors. HP/DM slash. Set post-HBP.
1. Prologue

A/N - I've been told the prologue is a bit gory, so I'm dropping a warning in here. x

* * *

_**Prologue**_

Fear, anger, hatred - they were his power, his source of strength, a seething mass of emotion lending his magic a force he'd never known before. His mind was closed, his spells silent and made vicious by panic. Greyback was no Occulumens - even the spells he didn't bellow out loud, Draco could still see the intention long before the words were thought. He blocked, retaliated, blocked again, and tried to ignore the tiny stab of hope - the mad thought that he might actually stand a chance…

"CRUI-"

_No - you're not getting me with that one -_

He felt the force of the curse even through his hasty shield charm. Greyback was getting desperate.

_Good. If, for just one second, I could make him fear me as I fear him…_

They were getting closer together, trapped by their increasingly large audience. Draco didn't know which was the more distracting - the buzz of their voices or Greyback's stench, overpowering even at eight paces, stale sweat and never-washed skin and blood. Enough to turn the stomach - and to make something inside Draco cringe and whimper. He felt like ants were crawling about beneath his skin.

Some fragment of that dangerously debilitating revulsion must have shown in his eyes, because Greyback's face contorted, grime and scars and hair moving, pointed yellow teeth appearing as he grinned. Draco wanted to close his eyes - to shut out that gloating grin and hungry eyes.

_But that's surrender. Fuck that. If he gets to touch me again it'll be over my cold dead body… And it probably _will_ be…_

"Little one, this _has_ been fun. But -" Greyback tossed aside his wand and lunged.

Big _mistake._

"_Sectumsempra_!"

Greyback was close enough when the curse slashed out that Draco saw his blood like mist in the air, and felt it on his face. The werewolf blinked, looked down at himself, at slashed robe and deep bloody gouges pumping out blood, and roared.

He kept coming, as Draco backed away and hit him with the curse again and again, mind too blank with panic to think of another spell. Bloody fingers slipping on his wand as he slashed it through the air, he watched the curse open up flesh and muscle, blood spraying into the air and bone gleaming inside the wounds.

The crowd opened up, allowing Draco to retreat a few more steps, until he felt his back up against cold stone. Greyback was on his hands and knees, leaving a trail of gore as he crawled. His hand, for once covered with his own blood, found the hem of Draco's robes, claws twisting into the fabric. Swinging madly between fear that froze and blind fury, Draco watched Greyback force his head back, and looked down into a face that was a mass of blood and raw flesh. Into eyes that still glittered with mad hunger.

"_Pretty -_" the werewolf croaked, blood bubbling from his lips, and for a second, as Draco's robe tore and his stomach wound itself into a tight squirming ball, he was back in that cell -

"No!" The anger tore up through him, merged with his magic to form a power that that was almost painful as it beat inside his head and through his flesh, desperate to be free, to tear through his skin and - "AVADA KEDAV-"

He felt rather than heard _Impedimenta _- the breath was driven from his body and the bones of his back cracked in protest as he was slammed back against the wall. His wand dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers.

Into a silence broken only by Greyback's wheezing, bubbling breath came the sound of slow clapping. Draco frantically blinked away the blackness bleeding across his vision and bowed his head to his master. His torn and blood-soaked robes barely still hanging on his body, magic leaking from his pores, he waited for his punishment.

To his surprise, he wasn't scared. The feel of his own power was too exhilarating. And the Dark Lord had seen it - probably felt it. Surely he could no longer dismiss Draco as 'weak'? Not after that.

"I can't let you kill Fenrir - he's too useful." Draco stole a quick glance at his master. Voldemort actually looked happy - or satisfied, anyway - it was hard to read emotions on a face like that. "But that was…impressive."

"Thank you, my lord." Draco kept his head bowed and fought the hysterical laughter bubbling up in his throat. _Fuck - he must have hated saying that. _"I aim to please."

* * *

Later, curled in a corner of the huge bathtub, water pink with Greyback's blood, there was no more laughter. Draco had kept his head under the water until his lungs felt like they were bursting, sharp burning pain that brought him to the surface to gasp in air. 

The plan, such as it was, had failed. For the second time in his life, he'd deliberately set out to kill someone. For the second time in his life, he'd failed. He looked at the water, with its browny-pink tinge, and felt his stomach flip.

He'd already been sick - there was nothing left to throw up - but he hauled himself out of the tub, just in case. His reflection looked back at him from the mirrored walls, gaunt and accusing.

He hated this bathroom - hated the mirrors that didn't speak, the water that didn't foam, the darkness and coldness of the place. But most of all he hated the image the mirrors showed him in multiple, actual evidence of how far he'd fallen. There was no room for vanity during a fight for survival, but -

Draco moved over to the wall, touching its smooth cold surface. From its gloomy depths he looked back at himself, at the shadows beneath his eyes, hollowed cheeks making cheekbones look like blades beneath his skin. The perfectly straight, perfectly lined up scars on his jaw and chest - caused by the same spell he had used to protect himself tonight - were fine lines of pink, nothing in comparison to the thick ugly - but healing - scratches on his belly. Or the teeth marks on his shoulder, a bite precisely and almost lovingly applied, seeping blood again. Greyback hadn't taken any flesh - but, then he hadn't needed to, had he? That particular mark of ownership pissed Draco off even more than the one burnt into his forearm.

Scrawny, scarred, polluted. The mirrors, he'd already discovered to his disgust, were unbreakable.

"Vanity, thy name is Draco Malfoy." Draco chose not to react as his old teacher swept into the room; it was already established that any requests for privacy would send Snape into new and biting realms of sarcasm. "You are aware, I assume, of the myth of Narcissus, who died pining away over his own reflection?"

"And you are aware, I assume, that all your 'private talks' with me seem to be when I'm in bed or the bath?" Draco smiled sweetly, watching Snape digest his words. "All this effort to catch me naked - you know, people are starting to talk."

"Idiot boy. If you're so concerned for your reputation, you could at least cover yourself."

Draco turned his eyes from the bony face in the mirror. Snape's glare and curled lip were hardly an improvement to the view. "Whoever said I was concerned? I like it. One day you'll admit to your mad repressed lust for me and we can be infamous lovers in fact instead of reputation."

Snape shook his head wearily. "It is as I feared - the duel with Greyback has irreparably damaged your brain." He took a small bottle from beneath his robes. Draco beamed; Snape scowled. "Your mind is clearly disturbed."

The potion was cold against his skin, stinging against still open wounds as Snape dabbed it against his shoulder. "I must admit, the duel was impressive," Snape continued. Draco recognised the tone of voice. Having tolerated, as always, Draco's attempts to wind him up, he was now heading for more serious subjects. "You managed to put aside your usual verbal diahorrea and mental instability very nicely."

"Thanks," Draco replied. "Your compliments never fail to depress me."

"And had the Dark Lord allowed you to finish that killing curse, you would have definitely killed Greyback. You would have also decimated his Death Eaters, since so many of us were standing there gaping."

Draco felt a little warm rush of satisfaction at that, but "Cool," was all he said. Casual, offhand, as if it scarcely mattered. _Weak, am I? _"'Decimate' is killing one in ten, right?"

"In the word's most archaic form," Snape said, a hint of approval in his voice. _Star student_. "I meant it in the modern sense - which is a much higher percentage." His fingers poked at the scratches.

"You sound pleased by that - do you wish I'd done it? Wiped out all your rivals for you?"

Snape sniffed. "It would hardly have benefited me, since I was standing right there with them. And I doubt the Dark Lord would have been much amused. No - be glad it ended as it did. Greyback will not be bothering you for a while, and neither will anyone else. Copious amounts of blood-letting, power, sadism and a complete disregard for onlookers' safety - just the things to impress your fellow Death Eaters. You have acquired _status_. Which may be fortunate, or not, depending on your point of view."

"People are scared of me -"_I__'__m not meat anymore. _"- how can that be 'unfortunate'?"

"Well, your Aunt has decided that you should accompany her - and some others - on a mission."

Draco didn't say anything, but the shock was almost a physical blow. _I__'__m being trusted? They__'__re actually going to let me out of here? Outside__…_

He must have blanked out Snape while he was speaking, because his next words didn't seem to connect with the former. "You have brains, Draco. Don't let yourself be turned into an attack dog." Draco had the nasty feeling he'd just missed out on an important warning.


	2. Chapter 1

**_-1_**

Harry was angry. No - beyond angry. He burned with a cold, hard fury at the stupidity and weakness of the boy in front of him. There was so much potential there - raw power, skill, intelligence - Lucius's brat _could_ be such a useful asset. Harry was going to make him into an asset if he had to rip him apart to do so.

The boy felt the power build-up before the word was even spoken. His head shot up, and Harry was looking down his wand into pale eyes made bright by defiance and a pure, hard hatred. Long fingers tightened around the wand. "_Crucio._"

The boy went down instantly, but refused to scream. Blood inevitably flowed as he bit into his lip, strong white teeth clamping down on soft pink flesh. His eyes slammed shut, eyelashes lacing together, tears the glue to fasten them shut forever. Harry wanted to hurt him, and the agony was clearly written in his contorted face and helplessly jerking body. But he didn't let loose even a whimper. Such pride. Futile and stupid, but entertaining… Harry found himself laughing - high-pitched and cold…

"Harry!"

The dark room and the pale boy were torn away as Harry blinked awake in warm candle-light, shaken by rough but friendly hands. "God, Harry - what the -" Ron's face came into focus, screwed up with worry. Harry realised he was still laughing - but it came as a relief to hear his own voice, not Voldemort's. And a relief to find his own emotions flooding back through him, trembling sweaty horror driving away the last of the cold pleasure. He pulled away from Ron, dry retching over the side of the bed.

He had had a year's peace - months free of this unwanted and uncomfortable connection with his greatest enemy. Voldemort had blocked it off himself. Why was it suddenly back?

"Harry -" Ron's voice was wary; Harry heard the unspoken question.

"Yes!" he snapped. "I was dreaming about him! About fucking _being_ him!" Guilt flared as he saw the hurt on Ron's face. Harry had every right to be pissed off - but no right at all to be taking it out on Ron. "Sorry," he added quickly. "Thanks for waking me."

"You alright?" Ron sat down on his own bed. Harry looked at the irregular walls, candlelight flickering off Cannons posters and the newspaper clippings strewn across every available surface, and let himself relax into The Burrow's comfortable vibrations - the atmosphere of a house that had known little but love and community inside its walls. "You know, Harry, that laughing was scary. I'm used to the nightmares, but -"

"Oh, it was a nightmare alright. Voldemort was torturing Mal- someone. He had them under Cruciatus and they wouldn't scream. We found it very amusing." Harry noted the bitterness in his own voice and deliberately lightened his tone. He even managed a grin. "But I'm fine. I'm going to see my loving aunt and uncle tomorrow - um, today - no wonder I'm having nightmares."

Ron beamed. "I'm looking forward to it. You might still be underage, but me and Hermione are all legal now. One wrong move by that fat git and _boom_." He waved an imaginary wand and caused the candle to wobble precariously. "Just pick your jinx. Or a variety of 'em. How about one for every year he's been a dickhead?"

"Oh, God - choices, choices…"

"Yeah - your life is _so _hard."

Harry lay back down to sleep with those entertaining thoughts flickering through his head, but it was no good. He closed his eyes, and the first image that flashed up on the black backs of his eyelids was dishevelled blond hair, fingertips scrabbling on the floor, back arched in pain, bloodied mouth finally open in a scream -

He opened his eyes, tried to control his heartbeat, and cursed the desperate desire he had to somehow protect Malfoy, to throw himself between Voldemort and his victim.

Pity for Malfoy was one thing - Harry could allow himself compassion, even for the boy who'd spend years trying to make his life a misery. But he couldn't let his 'saving-people-thing', as Hermione so infuriatingly - and aptly - put it, blind him to the fact that this was no damsel in distress or friend in need.

Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater. One of Voldemort's own. No one had forced him into taking the Dark Mark.

_Malfoy chose his own path. I can't save him - even if I wanted to._

_Which I _don't…

* * *

Dudley Dursley was happy. Everything in his world was exactly as it should be - perfect. The day was bright and hot, school had finished - forever if he had anything to say about it - and his old gang were happy to have him back and suitably impressed by his new tattoo. Everything was good. True, his father did keep making noises about him getting a job, but Dudley couldn't really see the need. His parents would just have to increase his pocket money to go with his more expensive adult social life. 

As the boys swaggered down the street, the local kids - and quite a few of the adults - got smartly out of their way. Dudley felt like a celebrity - the king of Little Whinging. Until they turned into Privet Drive.

The street was silent, with more than the usual Sunday afternoon sleepiness. Not a soul out - except for the mosher sitting on the wall of _his _house. Sitting like he hadn't a care in the world, skinny denim-clad legs stretched out in front of him, hands deep in the pockets of the oversized hoodie he wore despite the heat. What the hell was Dudley's father playing at, allowing _this_? It was a Saturday, so he'd be home. Surely one of his parents had noticed the scruffy creature sitting on their garden wall?

He marched his posse up the street. The boy on his wall didn't even have the decency to look up as they approached, instead choosing to examine his walkman as if he'd never seen one before. Obviously not a local - any local, especially a little girly thing like him, would be beating a hasty retreat by now.

But no. The mosher only chose to acknowledge them when they were standing right in front of him, blocking out the sun. He looked up from under his black hood, blond hair falling across his pale, bony face. Not a proper decent blond like Dudley's own straw-coloured thatch, but practically white. And his eyes were really weird - like looking into one of Dudley's mother's prized glass ornaments. He saw only swirling grey clouds and his own face reflected in duplicate.

Those eyes travelled over expensive tracksuit bottoms and Dudley's much-admired imported Nikes, and a girly mouth curled into a smirk. "At last," he said, in a cut-glass accent that was virtually designed to get Dudley's back up. "Some entertainment." Then came the final insult. This posh-mouthed, pretty-boy freak had his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and there, on smooth white skin, was the most spectacular tattoo Dudley had ever seen. A snake curling round a skull - no, actually coming out of its gaping mouth. Plain black, not coloured like Dudley's, but larger, more macho…the damn thing even looked like it was alive - moving…

His hand moved automatically to his bicep, to touch his still-scabbed skull and crossed-bones. The stranger's weird eyes followed the movement, and his smirk turned into a sneer. "Is it supposed to ooze like that, Muggle? Nasty. But, hell, at least it accounts for the smell."

"What did you call me, freak?" Dudley had a tried-and-tested menacing glare that, combined with clenched fists, caused pants-wetting terror in all recipients. Well, almost all. There was one exception.

_Two _exceptions. The blond boy looked unimpressed. He got to his feet, movement slow and smooth, unaccountably reminding Dudley of one of Mrs Figg's scrawny cats stretching in the sun. "Sorry, did you think that was an insult? I was just stating a fact. Though, if you want me to insult you, I can. After all, you've got all the looks and intelligence of a diseased troll - I could insult you for hours, _Muggle_."

That word again. Dudley wasn't the fastest on the uptake, but for the second time, there was a twitch in a largely unused section of his brain. He'd heard it before…and it was connected with…weird things, and yes, pants-wetting terror…

Piers Polkiss, usually the last of his gang to start a fight, but obviously frustrated by the lack of punching, moved up beside him. Polkiss was still scrawny, but he was taller than the mosher boy, who looked at him like he was seeing some new and interesting species of slug. "Clever dick, aren't you? Well, we don't like your kind around here."

Grey eyes darkened, narrowed, and flashed with something that made Dudley's blood chill. "No." Hate. Real hate. "I bet you don't." The boy's voice was still calm, but poison dripped from every syllable. Memories were flickering through Dudley's head, a twisted film of all the worst moments in his life - the snake, the pig's tail, the exploding fireplace, the growing tongue, Aunt Marge floating on the ceiling, the _feelings _in the alley, being attacked by wine glasses… He stood there, mute and unmoving, as Gordon pushed Piers aside and grabbed a handful of black hoodie, as the boy grinned wider than any human should be able to and something appeared in his hand.

Dudley was actually hoping for an airgun or a knife, but no… "A stick?" Gordon scoffed. "What are you going to do with -"

There was a blinding flash of light. Dudley heard a bang, the sound of a car alarm going off, and someone screaming. As his vision returned, he saw Gordon crumpled beside the car he'd been blasted into, screaming like a girl as bloody tentacles burst through his skin. Beside him, Malcolm and Piers were blinking too. Piers started to whimper.

"Newsflash, _animal_ - I don't like your kind either."

* * *

Draco tapped his wand against his lips - no fighting stance for dealing with Muggles - and beamed at his would-be tormentors. Apart from the brief diversion of 'acquiring' Muggle clothing that morning, Draco's part in his Aunt's mission had been boring look-out duty on a boring suburban street. Frankly, he'd expected his first foray into the barbarian Muggle world to be more interesting. Good of these idiots to liven his day up for him. 

The second largest Muggle actually tried to rush him. Typical of these people - scared of something, so they try to destroy it. Draco was feeling generous - he just hit him with Tarantallegra and watched him dance. The Muggle didn't seem to appreciate his mercy, however, alternating between screaming abuse and begging God to help him. Sick of the noise, Draco was about to blast him with something more nasty when he noticed the skinny one - the one who 'didn't like' his kind, sprinting off down the street.

Good to see the fine traditions of cowardice being upheld, even in the Muggle world. Quite a turn of speed he had, too. One carefully aimed spell later and he was dangling in mid-air, wailing. Well, he'd keep. Draco turned to the leader, the one who looked kind of like a Muggle version of Gregory Goyle. Who was standing exactly where he'd left him, staring at Draco as if he was the Devil come up to pay a visit. Which was very fine and flattering, but -

"Do something, troll. Run or fight, I don't care." He levelled his wand. "This is too easy. And boring. Really boring."

The Muggle swallowed. "- can't do this," he squeaked.

"What?"

Louder this time. "You can't do this. You're the same age as _him_. You can't do magic out of school - you'll be expelled."

Now Draco was the one to stare. This creature - who was so much a Muggle he was actually a cliché - knew about Hogwarts, and knew a wizard? A delightful possibility occurred to him.

"You live here?" He waved a careless hand to the house behind him. "You're one of Potter's clan?"

"If you're one of _his_ friends -"

Draco actually laughed at that. "I'm not," he said eventually, when the risk of hysteria had passed. "I'm of age, I'm not at school anymore, I hate Potter and, if you live there, then I have to kill you." He watched those facts sink in, watched the pig-like face crumple in fear, and had to ask. "You're _really _related to Potter? Fuck. He really got the looks, didn't he? Not that's saying much, but - Christ. Taking you out of the gene pool is doing the whole world a favour."

Right. This was it. He could do it. He knew he had the power and will to do it - he'd proven that, even if the Dark Lord had stopped him from actually finishing the job. He could do it.

The words were there, on his tongue, but -

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

This was a _Muggle_, not even a real person. What the hell was wrong with him?

Maybe he looked too much like Goyle, who definitely was a real person, and someone Draco had spent far too much of his life protecting.

Well, that problem was easily dealt with. He'd always been good at Transfiguration.

* * *

Harry and Tonks Apparated discretely far from the house, into the alleyway where Harry had fought off the Dementors. Even now, blinking in sunlight and his head pounding from the effects of Side-Along-Apparation, he quickly scanned the passageway, peering at every shadow, his hand pulling free of Tonks' so as to have quicker access to his wand. When there was nothing unusual there, Harry relaxed with a slight pang of embarrassment. He might be spending too much time in the company of Moody - the man had so much paranoia, some of it was bound to wear off on Harry eventually. 

To his relief, Tonks wasn't laughing at him. Instead, she was doing practically the same thing, hand close to her wand, eyes flicking about the alleyway, frown on her usually cheerful face. So, it wasn't paranoia, just good professional Auror vigilance. But Tonks looked like she could see - or feel, perhaps - something Harry couldn't.

Even in the sunlight, he felt the prickle of cold across his skin, and heard Dumbledore's voice in his head. _"It has known magic."_ Well, like that was helpful - of course this alley had known magic - Harry's for a start. But -

Dumbledore was dead, and could no longer help him. The best tribute Harry could give his former headmaster was to take on board everything that Dumbledore had tried to teach him. The magic in the cave hadn't been the residue of a long-past battle, but the emanations of powerful, still-working enchantments. Maybe this was too?

There was loud crack, and Ron and Hermione appeared beside them. Ron immediately shook off Hermione's hand and began checking that he still had all his body parts. She stared at him, caught between outrage and amusement.

"Ron! Do you really think I'd leave any of you behind?"

"Best to be certain," he muttered, continuing his check.

Ron, like Harry, was perfectly capable of Apparating on his own, but while Harry was too young to take his test, Ron had failed his. Harry was all too aware the Ministry was keeping a close eye on him, so he was obeying every law down to the last letter - for the time being. Later, perhaps, when he was ready to take on Voldemort… but for now, Harry was determined not to give the Ministry any opportunity to take him in 'for his own protection'. There was too much at stake and he had too much to do.

Tonks had her wand out. She held it in the air as if holding up a finger to check the wind. Both Harry and Hermione watched her with interest. "Something wrong?"

"We're on the edge of a powerful enchantment. Real Fairy Tale number." She looked at their confused faces and grinned. "Combination of a sleeping spell and some powerful diversion spells. You know - Sleeping Beauty? Shouldn't affect us - my guess is the sleeping spell is only still active to keep its hold over its original victims, and we can't be diverted away because we have an important objective inside the area." She frowned. "But it means something major is happening here. We can't just go wandering in."

"Death Eaters?" Harry said, his heart beat quickening. What he wouldn't give for another encounter with Bellatrix Lestrange. Or Snape… He felt that familiar twist in his stomach, something hungry and poisonous eating away at his insides. That was one man for whom Harry would gladly cleave his soul in two and count the price worth it, just to have Snape lifeless at his feet and know that he'd done it.

"As far as I, a humble Auror, know, the Ministry still isn't going in for mass enchantment of Muggles. Though Scrimgeour might get to that eventually." Harry met Tonks' eyes. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Dumbledore wanted me to," Harry said.

"Then I'll call reinforcements." She waved her wand; her wolf Patronus shot off down the alleyway, disappearing into a trail of mist as it sped up.

"It has to be the Dursleys, doesn't it?" Hermione said softly. Harry looked at her and realised he was thinking the same thing. "They know about them - and the protection spell."

"And who do you think told them?" Harry heard bitterness in his own voice, but also an edge of mad triumph.

"Harry, mate, if you start ranting about Snape again, I swear I'll thump you." Harry whirled round, glared at Ron, but his friend stood his ground. "He's an evil git, but you're getting -"

"I'm getting _what_? Obsessed? He murdered Dumbledore, sent Voldemort after me and my parents. Every piece of shit in my life, even being 'destined' to fight Voldemort, is thanks to that greasy treacherous bastard, and _yes_, Ron, I mean to fucking kill him. In fact, if you put the two of them, Voldemort and Snape, in front of me now, I know which one I'd blast first!"

"And that's the fucking problem!" Ron was shouting too now. "Killing Voldemort would save our world. Killing Snape would do nothing except make you happy - or maybe fucking not, because maybe vengeance isn't as tasty as people say. Snape is _nothing_ - go after him instead of concentrating on Voldemort and you're going to get _killed_!" He took a deep breath. "And, believe me, mate, none of us want that."

Caught off guard by Ron's obvious concern, Harry's anger faltered, was replaced by a deep surge of disappointment. Ron and Hermione had volunteered themselves along on this, and he was grateful for their support, he really was, but - "You don't understand," he said, more quietly. _You can't understand. No one can. _His friends might be along for the ride but, when it really came down to it, he was alone. And he always would be.

He started walking, out into Wisteria Walk. He actually felt the spells hit him, ice on his skin and voices in his head urging him to turn back, he had other things to do, more important things -

"Harry, no!" Hermione's voice was strangely muffled, but then, she was outside the blanket of enchantments. "We have to wait for the others! Oh - _for God's sake!_"

Harry heard running feet behind him, but he kept walking, ignoring his companions as they caught up.

It wasn't so much that he was desperate to race to his relatives' aid, or wanted to confront the Death Eaters (well, not entirely). What drove him on was the thought of more deaths on his conscience - more people dying for daring to try to protect Harry (however reluctantly that might be, in Uncle Vernon's case at least). He was sick of it - sick of being made responsible for something outside his choosing. His parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, now the Dursleys - no one would ever again take it upon themselves to protect Harry when he didn't want - or need - protecting, no one would ever again stand between Harry and his enemies. In fact, he vowed silently, it would be his enemies who needed the protection - from _him_.

"Shame there's no tumbleweed blowing about, eh?" Tonks said quietly. She grinned at Harry when he gave in and looked at her. "My dad used to watch these Muggle _Westerns_, he called em. This is like stepping into one of them. We've got the ghost town and, somewhere out there," she waved her hand, "some hostile gunslingers. All we need is the tumbleweed and some harmonica music."

Harry smiled despite himself. Finally getting together with Lupin had restored more than just Tonks' bright pink hair - she was back to her flippant, almost irritatingly cheerful old self.

Then he heard it - not harmonica music, but someone screaming for help.

Later, he'd say it was like the sound flicked a switch in his brain, making him throw caution to the wind and sprint around the corner into Privet Drive.

What he saw first was Dudley's crony Piers, dangling in mid-air as if some invisible being had hold of his ankle. He was the one making all the noise. Malcolm was on the floor, legs thrashing about as if trying - badly - to do an Irish jig. There was a human-sized mass of tentacles on the pavement near him. And, standing in the middle of it all, back to Harry, a slim figure, clad in jeans and hoodie but holding a wand.

The figure - girl or boy, Harry couldn't tell in those clothes but it didn't matter, because it obviously wasn't friendly - started to turn at the sound of Harry's footsteps, wand coming round even before he shouted "Expelliarmus!"

His spell hit a partial, but powerful, block. His foe jerked back as if hit by a great punch, but held on to their wand. The hood fell back in the movement, revealing hair that glowed white in the bright sunlight.

"Stupe-"

Blocked again. As Harry let himself fill with anger and burn for battle, his enemy moved into a fighting stance, side on to him, wand arm back, free arm forward, long white fingers stretched out towards him as if to touch, those slim limbs so quick and graceful that it was beautiful to watch. There was almost gasped admiration in his next jinx -

"Expell-"

And blocked again. Through the haze of anger, Harry saw his enemy brush gleaming hair back from his - and it was definitely a 'his', he could see that now - pale face. Why wasn't he fighting back? Harry wanted him to fight back, wanted hear him screaming curses, wanted to see if he was quite so graceful while dodging Harry's hexes -

"Imped-" Still just silently blocking, a smooth slash of his wand through the air the only sign he even considered Harry worth fighting. "Petrificus Tot-"

"Malfoy?" Hermione's voice broke Harry's concentration. He blinked and looked at the boy in front of him. His opponent remained in his fighting stance - probably a wise move considering he now had four wands pointing his way. Harry mentally swapped the tight jeans and hoodie for a school robe, imagined all that blond hair tied back and slicked firmly off his face, and acknowledged that actually, yes, his Hogwarts irritant and self-styled nemesis was actually standing before him. Perhaps skinnier than he remember, but, like Harry, Malfoy had always been small for his age and who could tell what he'd looked like without the robes? Harry shuddered at the thought. And who'd _want _to?

Malfoy looked along the line of wands, smirk now playing on his mouth. "So, the gang's all here," he drawled. "Charming." Harry got the usual urge to thump him, just for existing. Malfoy looked slender and fragile enough to break with a single blow… but he'd just blocked five of Harry's jinxes, one after the other, without breaking into a sweat or being panicked into a retaliation that would have lowered his defences. He now faced four-to-one odds with calm confidence. It wasn't just the clothes that had delayed Harry recognising him. "And stop staring at me, Potter. That secret crush thing got old years ago."

Harry was trying for a retort when he was startled by a croaking sound. For a second he thought it was coming from Malcolm, but then something was leaping through the air towards him. Malfoy still had his Seeker's reflexes - he snatched it out of the air without even looking at it.

"I think this is a member of your family, Potter." Now clutched tightly in Malfoy's hand, the big toad croaked miserably. Harry's eyes flicked over Malfoy's other victims - Piers, Malcolm and the tentacled thing that could very well be Gordon - and didn't think to doubt him. The others wouldn't go anywhere without Dudley. "What? No 'let him go, Malfoy'? Whatever happened to the legendary Potter heroism?"

Harry shrugged. "He's not worth the effort. Squash him. Or hand him over and I will."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. Harry called up every memory he had of Dudley. He didn't know how good a Legilimens the blond boy was, but if he'd mastered Occulmency, then… _yep, there he goes_. Malfoy disappeared, to be replaced by the familiar flickering slideshow of memories being rifled through - it began as an embarrassing show of envy, fear, hate, bullying, pain and surrender, then moved through into his teens, where the pendulum swung, and Dudley became scared of _him_. Harry tensed as the film reached the end. Malfoy could have those memories - they showed how little Harry cared for Dudley - but if he tried to go any further…

He didn't. Malfoy had the decency to stop when he'd seen what he needed - and that was a first, Harry decided, the linking of the words 'decency' and 'Malfoy', even if it was only in Harry's head. The world flashed back into view. Malfoy had a strange expression on his face.

"Nasty boy," he said. "Sadistic."

"You and him would have got along."

Malfoy smiled. His eyes met Harry's, clouds shifting to reveal a malicious admiration and a _knowledge_ that made Harry flush, angry and embarrassed. "Whoever said I was talking about _him_?" Harry broke the gaze first, and hated himself for doing it. He found himself looking at a scar on Malfoy's face, a straight pink line that broke at his jaw, then started again on his collarbone, continuing down inside the neck of his t-shirt. Harry's mark. He remembered the bathroom, the tears and the blood. Malfoy must have noticed where he was looking, because he continued talking, but in a bright, brittle tone. "I've enjoyed this, Potter. I've missed you trying to murder me. But, you know, places to go, people to see." His smile widened into a grin. "And, oh yes, I'm supposed to do this -" His wand slashed upwards, towards the sky. "MORSMORDRE!"

The flash of green light was blinding. For one mad moment, Harry's brain mixed up the spells and he thought he was dead, then he was blinking, vision clearing, looking up at the blazing green skull with its serpent tongue, smoke and light obscene in that clear blue sky.

He heard Tonks' shouted warning even before the first _crack _of Apparation. He spun, and found himself face to face with Bellatrix Lestrange. All around them, other wizards materialised, many of them hooded and masked. Death Eaters who still had other lives beyond the war, who walked among normal people, evils unknown.

* * *

"Get into the house!" the pink-haired woman yelled, and Draco had to smile at that. Where did she think the other Death Eaters had just come from? That house was no sanctuary, not any more. 

Potter, he noticed, was still the same wand-happy psychopath he'd known at school. He shot off a curse at Bellatrix and dived over the garden wall as she blocked it, then blasted everything in sight from his position of relative safety. Draco blocked a leg-locker jinx and realised Potter was covering his friends as they ran for the house. Typical. The usual chest-beating heroics.

Potter threw off a Reducto spell that blasted apart two cars. Draco was too busy shielding himself against fire and shards of flying metal to notice him sprint away, but he noticed his Aunt's screech of rage.

"After them!" Draco saw the door slam shut behind Potter, and the air around him was suddenly full of the sound of Disapparating.

Much as he would rather have stayed out there, in the slumbering street, he knew what he had to do. There was no room for hesitation or chickening out of a battle when his freedom - and probably his life as well - depended on Bellatrix's report back to the Dark Lord. Besides, seeing Potter finally getting his comeuppance would probably be amusing.

So he did what every instinct was telling him not to do - he Apparated straight into the house, into the battle -

- into what should have been a battle. He stood on the landing of a silent hallway. No sign of Potter and his cronies - but no other Death Eaters, either.

There were shouts and curses from outside. Draco looked over to the window just in time to see a masked form - Rookwood by the mask's markings - appear just outside…then drop out of sight.

He looked out. His fellows were Apparating right up against the walls of the house, but not inside. _What the -?_ As he watched, Bellatrix tried to blast the door - her spell rebounded and she barely managed to dodge it.

_They can't get inside…but I managed it - so what the hell is going on?_

Draco glared down at the toad in his hand as if it could somehow give him answers - but all it managed was a feeble croak.

Now what he going to do? Going after Potter alone was definitely no plan. Unlike dear mad Aunt Bella, four to one odds did not excite him, not when he was the one.

Three to one, he corrected as he heard movement downstairs. The pretty Auror must be warding the doors and windows. Hardly necessary given the levels of protection there seemed to be on this house.

Which still left the wonder-kids. He stood on the landing and listened carefully. Clearly recognisable voices came from behind a nearby door.

Swotty Granger: "Harry, I can't believe you didn't recognise Malfoy."

Whining Weasley: "'Course he did. He attacked him on sight, didn't he? Git - standing there with his Dark Mark out and an Inferius on his t-shirt - like he's bloody proud to be a Death Eater!"

"He's got no reason to hide it now, has he? And that Inferius, Ron, is just Eddie." Draco glanced down at his t-shirt, and at the flag-waving, grinning skeleton on it. It rather amused him. "The Iron Maiden mascot. It's a Muggle band, Ronald. Terrible musicians, but hardly followers of the Dark Arts." Silence. "My dad was a fan, ok?"

Nothing from Potter, but by Granger's first comment, he had to be in there too. Draco silently ran through every swear word he knew, and thought of Snape's parting shot. _Don't let yourself get turned into an attack dog. _Too late for that now. He could hardly Apparate out of the house empty-handed. _Imagine trying to explain that one to Aunt Bella… "Sorry, but there were three of them and I'm not an attack dog -" Yes, that'd go down really well. Fuck._

If he was going to do this, he had to separate them, or at least get Potter out there on his own. Though how he was going to take down the other side's foremost attack dog was - _no, don't think about it! The other Deatheaters might have gotten in by then, and if not - well, take it as it comes. _

Technically, Potter wasn't that good - he bellowed out spells, mind wide open to anyone with even the slightest skill in Legilimency, then looked surprised when they were instantly blocked - but his combination of massive raw power, very little brain and downright suicidal bravery was not to be taken lightly. Like Aunt Bella, he was all attack, either thinking defensive spells would take away valuable hexing time, or not caring if he lived or died. To Draco, who really did care if he was killed or maimed for life, nut-jobs like that were terrifying - though he would never admit that outside the privacy of his own mind.

Scared of Harry Potter? _Never_.

Draco took off his hooded garment, carefully pulled up the sliding Muggle fastening, and prepared to make a diversion.

* * *

Harry stood in his bedroom at No 4, Privet Drive, and watched the confused Deatheaters outside. He was seriously tempted to open the window and take some potshots at them. Stupid, when the house was doing such a good job of protecting him, but it was so tempting - 

_Crash_.

The sound of breaking pottery came from just outside the door. His first thought as he jumped was that it was Tonks being clumsy. The second thought was that that it was Tonks being attacked. What if one of the Death Eaters had gotten inside before Harry had?

Ron was already at the door, flinging it open. "There!" he shouted. Harry saw a flicker of black disappearing down the stairs before Ron was charging after it.

"Ron! Come back!" Hermione gave Harry a glance that said it all. _He's an idiot, but I love him. _She followed Ron down the stairs with a bit more caution.

Harry felt a prickling on the back of his neck. Something wasn't right. He looked quickly about the landing, taking in the broken vase, the toad on the floor -

A flash of something white caught on the very edge of his vision sent him spinning around, frantically throwing up a shield charm. A stunning spell smashed against it, the force of it almost knocking him off his feet. The shield disintegrated, he dived out of the way of the next spell, tried to get a bearing on his attacker so he could fight back.

He heard shouts from downstairs - his friends coming to his aid - then a wave of power tore out from the partly open door of Dudley's bedroom. The stairs turned into a mass of flame, trapping Harry upstairs, but he barely noticed. He had his mark.

"Reducto!"

The door shattered into a thousand flying splinters. Harry fended off another stunning spell and dived in through the doorway. The massive screen of Dudley's television smashed as he got behind it, taking a spell meant for Harry. A second spell and the whole thing, television and cabinet alike, was turned into so many fragments at Harry's feet. His loss of cover didn't bother him, though. The fight was upon him, his blood was up, and the blond boy in front of him was finally fighting him properly, just as he should have outside. Easy to forget it was Draco Malfoy, when he was such a good opponent and it was so much fun. Easy to forget that this boy was a Death Eater, and losing this duel meant being hauled off to Voldemort.

Spells flew in the tiny space. Turned out Malfoy _was _still graceful when dodging Harry's hexes, but he was no longer so arrogant in his command of non-verbal magic. Enough light came from the hall and though the permanently-drawn-shut curtains for Harry to see his face hard with concentration, and his mouth occasionally forming words. Harry enjoyed every minute.

All over too quickly though. Malfoy managed to block a jinx from Tonks as she Apparated onto the landing, and while catching her with a stunner, failed to dodge Harry's Impediment Jinx.

Harry looked down at the crumbled figure, not so elegant after being slammed up against the wall, and felt his enjoyment drain away. That had been insulting. True, technically Tonks was the Auror and the greater threat, but he couldn't believe Malfoy had moved his attention away from Harry, even if only for a second. _I'm a threat, too - but you've learned that now, haven't you, you arrogant git._

He levelled his wand, nudged Malfoy with his foot, and tried to resist the urge to kick him harder. He noticed that the hoodie was gone, and wondered if that was what Ron had chased downstairs. Malfoy should have looked even more fragile without its bulk, but his bare arms showed that slender body's apparent frailty to be all illusion - too thin, but not scrawny like Piers - rather his white skin was stretched smoothly over lean muscles.

_In which case that jinx shouldn't haven't knocked him out cold - he's playacting. _Harry gave him a good kick. "Come on, you faking bastard, get up!"

Malfoy moaned, held up a hand as if in entreaty. He muttered something, and Harry saw his wand-hand twitch. _Should have taken that thing off him before trying to get him up -_

"Expelliarmus!"

Harry heard a muffled "fu-", broken off by a pained "uff" as the spell smashed Malfoy to the floor, driving all the air from his lungs. His wand flew from his hand and bounced across the carpet. But his other hand caught what he'd Accioed over.

Harry looked down his wand at Dudley the toad and swore. Hadn't he learnt? Harry would be happy to see Dudley dea-

But would he? Harry was safe from his enemies here, in this house, only while the Dursleys allowed him house room. He didn't know where his aunt and uncle were - they could be dead for all he knew. Which just left Dudley. Had Malfoy figured that out? If he had, why didn't he just kill Dudley and let in his fellow Death Eaters? And, for that part, how was Malfoy in here anyway? Was it because he came in with Dudley? Or because the house didn't see him as meaning Harry harm..? Which was an interesting thought…

Malfoy got to his feet, every move an exaggerated show of pain. "Fine, Potter," he said, "looks like you've won. What do we do now?"

Harry looked at him as he leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms, looking much too relaxed for someone who'd just been disarmed by his enemy. Trying to put his thoughts in order, an idea occurred to him. "We talk."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "No, we don't," he said flatly. "_We_ never talk. I talk to you and you attack me. That's how it usually works."

Harry was outraged. "You provoke me! Sneering at people isn't talking -" He noticed Malfoy's gaze flicking over the floor, looking for his wand. A slight smirk showed that he'd spotted it. "And neither is deliberately pissing them off to divert their attention."

"You insult me, Potter. I'd never do something so sneaky and underhand." Malfoy shrugged. "Well, it's not like I've anything better to do, and you seem to be in charge." He glanced up and caught Harry's gaze, then very deliberately looked down again. "Let's _talk_."

Harry couldn't help it; he followed his gaze down. Down to pale skin made to glow by the contrast with black fabric, down over the t-shirt that skimmed his body, to the jeans that clung to it, exposing every intimate contour of hips and thighs and crotch -

_Shit. What the hell am I _doing? Harry tore his eyes away, glad the room was dark and Malfoy wouldn't be able to see his burning cheeks - or where he'd inadvertently been looking.

Small chance of that. Malfoy gave him a strange look - part surprise, part triumph and part disgust. "Ok," he said, "first topic. Why am I in here with you, but my Aunt and the others are trapped outside?"

_Because Dudley's still alive, and he's not capable of throwing me out at the moment. The protection holds. You've got him, and I want you both in here, so here you are. _All things Harry couldn't tell Malfoy without risking Dudley's life - and everyone else's. "Your _friends _messed up," he said eventually. "I'm safe in this house. You only got in because I wanted you to."

Malfoy looked uncomfortable, clearly running through the possible reasons Harry could want to get him wandless and cut off from his allies. Harry felt a hot rush of anger.

_Get over yourself, mate. Just because I looked at your body, it doesn't mean I'm overcome with lust and got you alone to pounce on you. Though you'd fucking deserve it if someone did. You can't dress like that and then act like someone's a pervert just because they _look.

_And it was accidental, anyway._

_And it's not like I enjoyed it. _

Harry took a deep breath, then it was all flooding out. "I was up there, on the Astronomy Tower. I saw everything, heard everything. I know you're not with Voldemort of your own free will. I know he's been threatening your family. I know you wouldn't have killed Dumbledore. You're not a killer. You're a twisted, nasty git, but you're not _evil_. I know it won't sound as good coming from me, but I can offer you the same deal Dumbledore did. We can protect you, your mother - even your father if he wants it -" Malfoy's face was a frozen marble mask, his body completely still, impossible to read - was he listening? Did he understand? "You're proud - how can you bear to serve someone who treats you with contempt, who whacks the Cruciatus curse on you just to see if he can make you scream -"

_That _got a reaction. Malfoy's eyes blazed, his fingers curled into fists, tightening around Dudley, who gave a terrified croak. "How-?"

"_Leave him_." Harry found himself taking a step forward, then another. "Come with us." He looked into glowing grey eyes, at a face made gaunt by god-knew-what suffering, at quivering lips already starting to curl into a sneer, and wanted to slap that expression away, to shake Malfoy until he admitted that Harry was right. His fingers tightened on his wand.

Malfoy backed away. "Try anything and I squash the amphibian."

"You're not a killer," Harry said again. Malfoy had lost his wand, they were alone, at least for the moment, and Harry had nothing to lose by trying this. Only Dudley, if he was wrong, but that was a loss he would get over. Malfoy Apparating away, back to his master and the wrong side of the war, another powerful wizard, another soul, lost to Voldemort - now that would be harder to take.

He didn't know what had prompted this. Despite the dreams, Harry had been happy enough to leave Malfoy to his chosen fate - and it was his choice, after all. But Harry felt closer to Dumbledore at that moment than he ever had - he understood what Malfoy didn't seem to. Dumbledore hadn't been negotiating for his life, but for Malfoy's soul, and now, however much he disliked the guy, so was Harry.

"You have no idea what I am."

"Then show me!"

"Just because you open your mind up like a fucking whore opening her legs, it doesn't mean everyone does!" Malfoy snapped. Harry gaped; that wasn't what he'd meant. Was Malfoy suggesting -

He suddenly felt like someone had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and was tugging him forward, and there were images in his head, a memory that was definitely not his - he didn't understand how it could be happening, he was no Legilimens, but he was looking at a hallway full of wizards, and Draco Malfoy, back against the wall, covered in blood, aiming curse after curse at a big man crawling across the floor. Each one gouged out another deep cut, then another, and the man was a moving mass of blood and gore. He caught hold of Malfoy's robes, tearing them as he either tried to drag himself to his feet or pull Malfoy down to him. "Pretty…" It could have been the beginning of a plea for mercy, but Harry felt his stomach twist, saw his revulsion mirrored on Malfoy's face as the other boy drew back his wand and screamed "AVADA KED-"

Just as easily as he'd pulled Harry into his mind, Malfoy shoved him out. Harry stared at him. His chest heaved under the thin t-shirt, making Eddie seem like he was moving, his eyes were wide and wild, and Harry could feel the magic in the air around him, like static, oil, ice and fire all at once. So powerful… He couldn't be allowed to go back to Voldemort.

"You see." Malfoy's voice was soft. Not triumphant. And that gave Harry hope.

_I saw you kill. But I'm not too late. _"I saw a boy like me," Harry said calmly, "fighting for his life."

Malfoy ran his hand through his hair and glared. "You don't fucking give up, do you?"

The sounds of battle came drifting in through the window. Malfoy tilted his head, listening to the shouts and spell blasts and screams. Reinforcements had arrived, the Order to the rescue, but Harry was focused completely on the boy in front of him.

"I don't intend to," he said.

"_Fine_," Malfoy hissed. "Catch!" He threw the frantically croaking toad at Harry. Hard - Harry snatched it out of the air inches from his face. He spun, shouting out a binding spell, but Malfoy had already grabbed his own wand up off the floor.

_Crack._

Malfoy was gone. The binding ropes span in mid-air for a moment, seeking their target, then dropped to the floor.

* * *

Harry revived Tonks, and sat beside her on the smoke-filled landing as she held her head and swore loudly and inventively. As he'd thought, it was just a stunning spell, and without much power behind it - maybe Malfoy hadn't taken his attention from Harry that much after all. Down in the hall below, Moody and Lupin were putting out the fire. 

"So," Tonks said eventually, "did you get him?"

Harry blinked. It took a moment for him to understand what she meant. _Ah, yes - capturing the Death Eater to interrogate and then hand over to the Ministry. No, actually - I got a bit diverted by trying to get him to join us._ "He got away."

"Shame." She frowned. "Shame you didn't take him. But more shame on Aunt Narcissa and that husband of hers for bringing their kid into this. Sixteen-year-old Death Eaters -" Her voice became weaker. "And I always thought she doted on him, too-"

Tonks swayed; Harry steadied her. "I'm sorry - guess my healing spells aren't too good."

She patted him somewhere in the region of his shoulder. "Good enough. Just feel a little dizzy. Anyway, enough about my cousin - give me yours."

"Are you sure -"

"Harry."

So he handed over Dudley, who had evidently given in to whatever horrors the world had to throw at him and just lay there pathetically in her hand.

"Poor little toad. Did the nasty boy threaten to squish you?"

"Tonks -"

"Oh, fine." She waved her wand. There was a sharp snapping noise and a flicker in the air - or perhaps in the fabric of the world - and Dudley reappeared. "Y'know, Harry, I think I preferred the toad."

Dudley's face was bright red, his eyes flicking in all directions, as he curled up on himself like a baby. Harry had no sympathy. "What happened, Dud? You finally pick on someone who could fight back?" Dudley flinched. "You're pathetic."

"Harry," Tonks put a hand on Harry's shoulder and pulled him away. "don't be too hard on him. He's a fool, and bully, and god knows what else, but he's also an orphan." Harry stared at her; she gave a slight shrug, saying: _and the world is shit - what can we do about it? _"Downstairs in the kitchen. Before we came. Killing Curse."

_Murdered. _Harry looked down at his wand, clutched so hard his knuckles were going white. _And I let one of the murderers go. Smooth._


	3. Chapter 2

A/N - Thanks so much to Jenimi, minoki, darkshadowarchfiend and DarkLordOfUltimateChaos for the nice reviews. This is my first fic on here - first HP fic ever - and I was expecting it to disappear unnoticed into the depths (which, i suppose it might yet ;)), so it's wonderful that people are interested. Cheers, guys!

* * *

**2.**

"_Leave him_." Potter took a step forward, then another. "Come with us." His voice was low and intense. Draco found himself looking into sharp green eyes, made old before their time, and wanted to back away through the wall, to escape from that gaze, that voice. Potter was acting like Draco had a choice, which was so unfair.

He made space between them by sliding along the wall. Probably the best idea, since Potter suddenly looked like he wanted to hit him. "Try anything and I squash the amphibian."

"You're not a killer," Potter said again.

_True - but I could be. _How dare Potter act like he knew him? Six years ago Potter, arrogant bastard that he was, had thrown Draco's offer of friendship back in his face - and yet now he was pretending to know him?

"You have no idea what I am."

"Then show me!"

The memory flickered, and for a moment Draco saw the Dark Lord's face, split in a rough approximation of a smile. Then Potter was back, well into Draco's personal space and wearing that earnest wouldn't-it-be-nice-if-everyone-were-nice expression again. Draco wanted to hex him, just for being so pathetic. _Come on - you're Mad-Dog Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, etc, etc, the one even the Dark Lord is secretly afraid of - don't look at me like you want to have my babies - it spoils the effect!_

"I saw a boy like me," Potter said, and Draco winced, "fighting for his life."

_I am _nothing _like you. _That was what he wanted to say. What he _did_ say was "You don't fucking give up, do you?" Only when the words were out did he realise that Potter could easily take that as a compliment - or worse, _encouragement_.

Naturally, being Potter, he took it as both. "I don't intend to," he said.

The memory broke up into the Dark Lord's laughter. Finally free of that alien presence in his head, Draco hastily put his barriers back up. But not too securely - the Dark Lord might want to have another look. He'd replayed that memory four times already, like flicking through a favourite book for the best bits, and every time it had caused him great amusement.

"So," he purred, when he finally finished laughing, "Potter thinks he can save you from yourself." His fingers curled around Draco's arm, and Draco wished fervently for a nice thick robe - even the one Greyback had ruined - just so he didn't have to feel those clammy digits against his bare skin. Muggle clothing had its disadvantages. "And he doesn't intend to give up without a fight. Priceless."

Draco kept his eyes down while the Dark Lord was speaking - out of respect, of course, nothing at all to do with the fact his lord and master's appearance made him feel sick to his stomach. "Should this offer be made again, however, it is my wish that you accept." It was such an outrageous statement that Draco had to look up. "You have deprived me of my most useful spy." Standing quietly in the corner, Snape inclined his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. "It seems only fair that you should replace him. Potter seems to want you as an ally - even a friend. So be his friend."

It was at that point Draco started laughing.

* * *

"Now, you do know what mistake you made there," Snape said, handing Draco the glass. Draco gulped down the potion and sighed as it worked its magic on his still screaming nervous system. "Lesson learned?"

"Never laugh at any of the Dark Lord's commands," Draco said, feeling like a child reciting potion ingredients. "Even in a moment of weakness and hysteria." He frowned at Snape. "Seriously, though - Potter and I - _friends?_ He hates me. Always has. He was just having one of his saving-the-world moments. It happens quite often, I think. Anyway, the offer won't be repeated because I plan on staying well away from the Boy Wonder. He's insane."

"Two words," Snape said. "Guess the saying. 'Pot' and 'Kettle'."

The potion was too nice. Draco couldn't even maintain his frown. "Thanks," he said, but managed no venom. "I appreciate your support." He leant against the wall, feeling strange sensations. "I know you're the potions master, not me, but am I supposed to feel as if my brain is spinning around inside my skull?"

Thin fingers gripped his jaw. "Open your eyes." The command met with, as usual, complete obedience. Draco looked into intense black eyes, Snape much too close, and felt he was a kid again - a kid with his first guilty, impossible crush.

_Grow up! The man's got enough to worry about without you staring at him like a love-struck Hufflepuff._

"Mmm. Just a side effect, I think. This could have been the wrong potion to give you in your, ahem, fragile mental state."

_God, that voice…Chocolate laced with absinthe…_

Snape's face softened slightly, into what could almost have been concern. "What - no obscenity-laded retort?" Concern turned to suspicion. "Draco - I trust you to tell me if you're having any warm, loving thoughts. We have fully qualified healers -"

"I'm fine!" _Just need you to get your hands off me and to get out of my personal space, right now - _Snape's grip tightened and he leaned in closer - _or as soon as possible…whenever you like, really…_

"This is probably not the best time, but I have important news - and something I need from you…"

Draco was trying to shape his mouth into a reply, _any _reply, when a voice drawled out, "the important news being me, I hope," Snape didn't let go of Draco, but his head spun around, to face the cool, amused gaze of Lucius Malfoy, "not that you're in mad, passionate love with my son." His mouth curled into a smile. A smile that didn't reach his eyes as they flicked over the scene in front of him. "Though, Severus, I suppose, if you really _must -_"

"Draco continues to bear the brunt of your rather spectacular fall from grace." Snape stepped smoothly away from Draco, dignity intact, as if pressing his godson up against a wall was a perfectly everyday occurrence. "He has been placed under cruciatus by the Dark Lord - again - and I was simply taking care of him in the aftermath. And, yes, the important news was your return."

His dignity was more than intact - it was an almost physical thing, like a cloak hanging from his shoulders. Draco had always admired the man, but now he envied him as he felt the heat rush up to his face. His blushes were - very - infrequent, but spectacular - red blood rushing up to colour white skin could hardly fail to be so; Lucius would notice and be totally appalled.

_Great, so the day continues to get better - virtually propositioned by Potter, tortured by the Dark Lord, googoo-eyed over Snape, blushing in front of my father…_

Lucius Malfoy looked like a man who had just fought his way out of hell itself. His hair was lank, his skin like paper, new lines scored into his face, and his previously powerful frame was emaciated, too thin for his height and the pride still present in his posture.

Draco wanted to rush over and hug him, but rationalised that strange impulse as the potion talking. He would do no such thing; Lucius would be horrified. He might have survived Azkaban, but the shock of _that _would surely kill him off. He straightened himself up, pulled himself away from the wall, and inclined his head in a brief, respectful bow. "Father."

"Draco." And with two swift, graceful strides, Lucius was in front of him. For a brief panicked moment Draco actually thought the hug would come from _him_, but his father just caught his shoulders, as if to give him a good shaking, and stared.

Draco met his eyes, imagined the words that could be coming out of Lucius's mouth at that moment. "Are you all right? I've missed you. What kind of fool are you, following me into this?" All easily dismissed as wishful thinking (except for the last - Draco remembered him referring to Voldemort as 'that mad bastard' when everyone had believed him dead and his father was feeling particularly let down by the world). But his hands tightened on Draco's shoulders. Snape coughed slightly, and Draco was suddenly embarrassed by this extreme display of affection. Then Lucius blinked and said, "What _are _you wearing?"

Draco heard another cough from Snape; this one sounded suspiciously like it was covering a laugh. "Muggle clothes," he said calmly. Then, just to see Lucius' reaction: "They're quite comfortable, actually. If a little chafing, in certain areas."

"They're indecent!" Lucius snapped. His face hardened. "Go put some robes on. No son of mine is going to be seen dressed like some deviant." A look of disgust crossed his face. "I'm not sure I want to ask this, but -"

Draco beamed. "Yes, Father - they came off an actual Muggle. I'll get disinfected as well, shall I? Oh, and, by the way, Mother's well. I'm sure she'll be glad to see you."

That caught him off guard. As Draco turned to go, he saw the outrage on his father's face soften to something else.

So, the first thing Lucius Malfoy had done on escaping Azkaban was come running to grovel before the Dark Lord, rather than going to his wife. Draco didn't think badly of his father for it. Family came first, but in times such as these a little grovelling might be all that kept that family from being wiped out.

As he walked along the hall, he felt his spirits lift, and it wasn't the potion.

* * *

Harry rolled the quill between his fingertips and tried to remain calm. And polite. Very polite. "I did come straight here - that should count for something." Sitting beside him, Tonks gave his shoulder a small squeeze, a squeeze that said, you're doing well, keep going.

Scrimgeour peered at him from beneath bushy brows. "Yes, of course, and Auror Tonks here is very firm on the fact that you were acting in self-defence," the Minister frowned at Tonks, who gave him a cheery smile back, "but the fact is that, however powerful a wizard you are becoming, you are still underage. And the Ministry can't allow the most useful asset we may have in the war against -"

"Look," Harry interrupted, knowing he sounded rude and very far from calm, "I understand you want to keep me safe. But it's a only a week until my birthday. Then I'll be an adult and legally allowed to do magic when I like and put myself in whatever danger I like."

"You'd be extremely safe in Ministry custody. Safe for as long as we like."

"Lock me up and you might as well give Voldemort the Ministry!" Everyone in the room gave a collective flinch; Scrimgeour seemed to have developed a facial tic. Harry was actually dropping Voldemort's name as much as possible now, out of pure bloody-mindedness. "I'm not an _asset_, and I'm not some weapon to be kept safely locked away until needed and then rolled out and pointed at the enemy!"

"No - you're an underage boy with a over-inflated ego and a knack for recklessly endangering yourself and others!"

Tonks gasped, but Harry found himself smiling. Well, at least that was out in the open. _Wonder what he really thought of Dumbledore?_ _Probably the same thing, minus the 'underage boy' bit._

On his other side, Arthur Weasley coughed as discretely as he was capable. "Harry could return with me to the Burrow until his birthday. If you lend me Tonks, I'm sure she'll be capable of preventing any more, um, 'reckless endangering'."

"She hasn't been doing such a good job so far," Scrimgeour growled. Then he sighed and ran his hands through his mane of hair. "Just get him out of my sight, Arthur - and _please _try to keep him out of trouble. As much as I hate the fact, we need him."

"'He' is right here!" Harry said, but he couldn't put much venom into it. Scrimgeour, always so tough and capable, looked _old_. "The war not going well?" he asked as the three of them left the Minister's office.

Mr Weasley sighed. "About as well as can be expected. This is civil war, Harry, The Death Eaters are not an outside threat to be rallied against. They're among us. And speaking of Death Eaters, your attempt to 'convert' the Malfoy boy…"

"I know, I know - it was stupid." Harry felt embarrassed just thinking about it.

"Not stupid - kind-hearted." Mr Weasley smiled at him, and Harry flinched. 'Kindness', he felt, had had very little to do with it. "I'm sorry you failed - though hardly surprised. That family is poison." He looked about, frowning. Harry watched a couple of scrolls fly past above his head. The interdepartmental memos were definitely getting weightier. A rather harassed-looking Ministry witch came marching down the hall after them, her arms filled with more scrolls. "Now, where are Ron and Hermione? I told them to wait right here. Ron knows not to go wandering off at the Minis-"

He was cut off as the witch collided with him. Scrolls bounced off the floor at Harry's feet. Some took off back into the air. "Oh, Arthur, I'm so sorry!" She made a grab for the escaping parchment. "I don't know what's happening - they seem to be trying to re-file themselves."

Harry and Mr Weasley did their best to help catch them. The scrolls ducked their desperate grabs, wriggled free from clutching fingers, and smacked their would-be captors in the head. Formidable opponents. Harry was just starting to enjoy himself when Hermione came around the corner and, with a slightly irritated expression, whipped out her wand and froze them all in mid-air.

"Here, let us help." Harry noticed Ron's scowl as his friends joined the party. He also thought he saw Hermione slip a couple of the scrolls discretely into her bag. She caught his eye and gave him a big smile. It was the supposedly-reassuring smile she always gave Harry when she thought he was about to kick off over something, and now it didn't reassure him at all. Was there some reason for him to get angry?

He drew her to one side. "Is this anything to do with you?" he asked.

"It was nothing. Just the variation of Accio the Ministry use for filing reports, and all I did was search confiscated items inventories and raid reports for any leads on the cup and the locket. We need _something_ to start with, Harry, otherwise we're starting this quest in the dark."

Harry glanced at Ron. He was still scowling and pointedly ignoring Hermione. "Some of those scrolls came from my father's office."

"Not really surprising, really - he did go on a lot of raids before his promotion. Looks like Malfoy Manor got searched nearly every other month -"

Ron looked over at his father, who was laughing with Tonks and the Ministry witch. "He could get into trouble over this."

"Everybody here's already _in _trouble!" Hermione snapped. "Do you really think a few old reports matter when the Death Eaters could attack any minute?"

Ron glared. Harry told himself that they enjoyed arguing, they really did, and he shouldn't interfere, but… "Look - could we just save this for later?"

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully. "I suppose it has been a hard day for everyone." Harry tensed. He'd never been good at divination, but he suddenly _knew_ what she was going to say next. She'd tried to bring up the subject three times already, in just four hours. And, yes, there it was - the head to one side, the look of kindly curiosity… "Do you think Ma-"

"AND I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT FUCKING DRACO MALFOY!"

Silence fell as everyone in the corridor turned to stare at Harry. Hermione blinked, then smiled, her eyes twinkling. "No, neither do we. _Really_."

Harry reran the sentence through his head. _Oh, god - why can't the floor just open and swallow me up? _"Kill me, please."

"Put any more pictures like that into my head and I _will_," Ron said. He shuddered. "With pleasure."

* * *

He climbed through a half-ruined archway, following the sound of the sea, a thousand ancestral voices murmuring protest at the colonisation of their great fortress by halfbreeds and wizards of impure blood. Of which the Dark Lord was one, if the rumours Draco had heard were true.

_Which means, Most Powerful Living Wizard or not, he has weakness built into him._

Draco blinked in the moonlight, extinguished the light of his wand, and clambered out of the cave's mouth onto the beach.

From the first time his parents had brought him to the castle, as a small child, this had been his favourite spot. Found by accident while his father had been checking the power of the ancient wards, Draco had spent hours splashing about in the waves and exploring the caves, until Lucius had found him and curtly informed the happy six-year-old that they were not on a trip to the seaside.

Draco looked up at the castle, the dark walls crawling along the line of the cliff tops. "_This _is our family," his father had said, "this is what we were, what we still are even after centuries of soft living. This place kept our family safe and strong through half a millennia of war and persecution. Enjoy the comfort and luxury of the Manor, of the townhouses, the villas and the lodges, but never forget - _this _is where we came from. Our blood is bound into its very stones. Show some respect."

Draco hadn't played on the beach on subsequent visits.

_Respect. And then he hands it over to the Dark Lord for headquarters._

The castle hated its new occupants. If a place could have a soul and a mind of its own, this had. More Death Eaters had disappeared - died? - here than had been taken by the Aurors in the years since the Dark Lord's return. Yet another thing for which the Dark Lord would blame Lucius Malfoy.

Draco took off his boots, felt the sand beneath his toes and tried to feel the joy he had had as a child in this place. He watched the white horses in the surf glow silver in the moonlight and hoped his father's return would mean an upturn in the family's fortunes.

If the Dark Lord was defeated now, he was sure Lucius would find some way to turn it to their advantage. But if he continued to rise, the Malfoys were doomed. Draco could see it sometimes in the way Voldemort looked at him, at his mother, the glint of rage in his eyes when the elder Malfoy's name was mentioned. _He hates us. Not just for the loss of some stupid prophecy, but just because we are what we are. What he can never be._

When he ceased to enjoy Britain's oldest Pureblood family grovelling at his dirty Halfblood feet, or if any of them looked like a threat to his power - which, by their very nature and his, they automatically were - then he would kill them.

And the worst thing was, there was absolutely nothing they could do about it. The die was cast, loyalty had been pledged. All the Malfoys could do was continue to be useful.

_And stick together, because sure as hell no one else will help us._

"_We can protect you, your mother - even your father if he wants it -"_

Draco shook his head. _Protect us, Potter - you and whose army? _Not the Ministry's, certainly. That he was even thinking about Potter's mad promises showed how limited his options had become.

_No - stay useful. Father will think of something. He always does._

The moon was waning, well into its last quarter, but his arms tingled in its light. Perhaps later in the month it would burn him, and he would find out the true extent of Greyback's contamination. Snape wouldn't talk about it with him, but perhaps he would tell Lucius - and what an interesting conversation between old friends _that _would be.

Draco's face burned again, and this time the weakness couldn't be blamed on a potion. Perhaps he should have just surrendered to Potter, to save himself Lucius's shame and disappointment.

He froze as he heard the sound of voices overhead - a shouted comment and a bark of laughter. Death Eater patrol, checking the boundaries of the wards. Not good. Draco shrunk down against the rocks, aware of how exposed he was, of how sharply his black robes must contrast against the white sand. He quickly ran through possible excuses for being out of the castle. For once his family's reputation worked against him - no Death Eater who had fought alongside Lucius Malfoy would buy 'a walk to clear my head' as a reason for his son to be lurking out by the wards…the wards only a Malfoy could modify or take down…

The solution came to him the very moment he spotted the broomsticks and their riders, patches of deeper darkness in an already dark sky, only their movement betraying their position , and realised that they were heading down towards the beach. Sure, his hood was down, but there were other blond Death Eaters, and surely his features wouldn't be recognisable from that distance, even on this clear night.

_Don't let them catch me, get back to the castle, get an alibi and see about incriminating someone else - simple…_

Or not. He heard a shout from the riders, words whipped away by the wind but the tone of command clear. The bastards didn't even wait to see if he'd obey before attacking; Draco dived out of the path of a stunning spell and saw the sand fly up in a cloud full of dancing red sparks as the spell hit the ground and he started running.

More shouts as he ducked into the caves, bare feet slipping on slick rock. The thick fabric of his robe caught around his wand as he tried to pull it free, and he found himself wishing he'd kept the Muggle clothes. Indecent as they were, they allowed for a much quicker draw.

The darkness in the cave was absolute. Draco groped along the wall until the surface beneath his fingers changed from natural rock to magically-cut stones. Then he forced himself to pause, calling up the layout of the vaults and passageways in his head as he listened for the sounds of pursuit. For a moment all he could hear was his own panicked breaths and the blood thundering in his ears. Might as well call up a light, really - his heart beat alone sounded loud enough to betray his position.

Then he heard it - heavy boots on stone. Light reflected off the cave's dripping walls - light that got brighter and brighter. Draco pulled up his hood and tried to stop his wand hand from shaking. It would be firm as a rock when the actual time for action came - that flight-or-fight reflex was very useful. Even if it was very firmly veering towards flight at the present moment…

The light abruptly blinked off.

_Any second now -_

Draco blocked the stunning spell and returned it with one of his own. Even as he heard the unmistakable sound of a heavy body hitting the floor and was blinking away the spots of colour dancing across his retinas in the aftermath of the exchange, his brain pointed out something he'd seen as the red flash of his stunner had briefly lit the cave, something that he should have remembered… There had been _two_ Death Eaters -

"Petrificus Totalus." The words were a whisper, a brush of air across the back of his neck, and he was falling, muscles rigid and will useless.

* * *

The game was over. Finito. Lost. Draco had been found out by the wards, and had tried to escape, taking down a fellow Death Eater in the process. The Dark Lord's view of possible traitors was that they were all guilty until proven innocent, and Draco had just done a marvellous job of _not _proving himself innocent. He wanted to scream, to curse the unfairness of it all, but unfortunately a full body bind was just that - full. Even his vocal chords refused to work.

Pain shot through his fingers as his wand was prised from his rigid grasp. Then hands were on his body, rolling him over. He looked up at the man standing over him and felt not fear, but a sharp pang of disappointment.

It was like a disease, infectious and out-of-control, its visible signs not a rash but a black, living brand, its symptoms a fever of the brain that made sane people follow a madman, and it was striking down student after student of the House Draco had loved and been proud to be part of. How else to explain it? The Flints were not a politically-minded family, and Marcus had never shown any interest in anything but Quidditch at Hogwarts (which was fortunate, since it was all he was good at), yet here he was. Definitely not playing pro-Quidditch for the Wasps; definitely holding a wand to Draco's head.

"Fast work, Malfoy," he said. "Your daddy's been back for just a few hours and you're already scheming and back-stabbing. You people just can't do loyalty, can you?"

Draco had met very few people whose glare could truly be likened to a physical thing, felt as well as seen - his father was one, Snape another, and Potter, damn him - but Flint was doing his best to emulate them, eyes intense, his expression hard.

He dropped to his knees with a suddenness that would have made Draco jump if he'd been able. "Even at school, you never played for the team, only for yourself and your own glory. I've never met anyone more selfish in my entire life."

_I was a _Seeker - was what Draco would have said if he could. _Seekers aren't team players - just look at Krum at the World Cup. Besides - you were a Slytherin! How can you talk about selfishness as if it's a _bad_ thing… _But all he could do was stare up at Flint. And whimper internally as rough fingers brushed over the skin of his face. Flint wrapped one strand of bright hair around his finger and frowned. And Draco remembered more about those Hogwarts Quidditch matches.

Bellowed recriminations or self-congratulatory speeches - Flint could always be stopped mid-lecture by Draco stripping off for the shower. The older boy's open-mouthed stare, his mouth opening and shutting but no sound coming out, like a overgrown goldfish, had amused Draco, as had his obvious frustration. Secure in the fear evoked by his family name, and in his own youthful ignorance, he'd actually found it funny.

He didn't now.

Flint stood up and pointed his wand. A flash of red light later and Draco was free to move. He used his newfound freedom to scramble back, to put some distance between himself and his captor.

"Stop." Draco focused on the glowing tip of Flint's wand and did as he was told. His mind was whirling. If Flint had been going to take him straight to the Dark Lord, then he could have done it without releasing him. So he wanted something. And thought he was cunning enough to get it. But giving Draco back his ability to move and talk was a big mistake. If he needed a wand to turn a situation to his advantage, then he couldn't truly be a Malfoy. "What were you doing down there? If you were tampering with the wards, who were you trying to let in?"

When the truth's unbelievable, tell the most believable lie… "No one. I was trying to let myself _out_." Draco let his voice falter and made his eyes wide and scared. It didn't take much acting. "I was running away. This place…the Dark Lord…I'm _scared_, Flint." Flint's lip curled in contempt. "You stopped me, but you don't have to tell the Dark Lord…I've g-got gold…p-precious things…" It was probably a bit of overkill, but he surged to his knees and caught hold of Flint's robes. "Please - I'll give you all of it. We can pretend this never happened."

"You think gold solves everything, don't you?" Flint sniffed. "Some people can't be bought so cheaply."

_But everyone can be bought. _The big idiot hadn't tried to shake Draco off, and he was within easy reach of his wand. He had a half a mind to grab it, and he would've too, if he hadn't still been having difficulty with the Killing Curse. Flint was too thick to continue living. Swallowing his contempt with difficulty, Draco put extra pleading into his eyes. Flint smiled.

"Perhaps it _would_ be best if this was forgotten," he said cheerfully. "Can't have one of our oldest families wiped out over a moment of weakness, can we? I'm sure we can work something out. Get up." Draco did, and waited - "Lose the robe." Inwardly, Draco sighed. No subtlety, no sophistication - how exactly had Flint managed to get into Slytherin? Bribery? Could you bribe a hat? And all that talk of loyalty - surely he had to be a Hufflepuff?

Outwardly, he blinked in bewilderment. Flint glared again. His fingers twitched on his wand. "Take. Off. Your. Robe," he said, biting off each word as if it offended him. "Strip. I'm sure you remember how."

"You want to -" Draco screwed up his face, as if trying to find a word suitable for his oh-so-delicate Pureblood lips. Scared as he was, he actually found himself enjoying himself. Technically, every day he lived amongst these people he stretched his acting muscles, but not like this. This was fun.

Flint lunged. With a hand gripping his hair and dragging his head, and a wand point digging into his arched neck, Draco decided that yes, this might be fun, but it was flying-by-the-seat-of-your-pants-through-a-thunderstorm, potentially hazardous fun and should probably be ended as quickly as possible. He fumbled for the fastenings of his robe and started to babble.

"But it's so _dirty _in here, and so dark, and wet, and dirty, and…there's somewhere better, further into the caves…it's dry, and there's lights…great torches…and somewhere to, um, lie down…"

It occurred to him that maybe Flint would _like_ the idea of the dirt and darkness, of taking him up against the wall in a filthy cave. In which case, he'd have no choice but to knee him so hard in the balls they'd lodge in his stomach. _Undignified, but _very _satisfying…_

Flint laughed. "God, Malfoy, you're such a _girl_. Ok - we'll go to your 'somewhere better'." His expression changed. "But if you're trying to get out of this -"

"I'm not." _Could add something like "I've wanted you since school," but I doubt even I could make _that_ convincing._

So Draco led Flint further up into the maze of passageways beneath the castle. Flint kept his wand trained at Draco's back, but he couldn't help looking around curiously. Not even the Dark Lord had been down there - he suspected the tunnels existed, but hadn't been able to find the entrance. Yet another reason to kill Flint.

When they entered the Lower Hall, the magic sensed Draco's presence and the torches all burst into life. He heard the gasp behind him and smiled. It _was _impressive. His ancestors had certainly known how to put on a good show.

Carved out of the stone was a room the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but this place wasn't for eating and drinking, even though the centre of the room held what seemed to be a stone table. Crowded around it were all the lords and ladies who had held the castle. Statues, of course, though they did look awfully lifelike in the flickering torchlight.

"Who -?"

"My ancestors," Draco said calmly, walking towards the table. "They can't have liked portraits in those days."

"You want me to fuck you in front of your ancestors?" Flint looked distinctly uneasy. "Malfoy, that's…kinky." He spun around, wand pointed at the motionless statues. "Something moved! Something fucking moved!"

Draco sighed. "Yes," he said, as the statue beside Flint creaked into movement, "they do that sometimes." He leaned against the edge of the table, which really looked more like an altar than a table, but he wasn't going to think uncharitable thoughts about his ancestors while there were so many present.

There was the popping sound of small bones breaking, and Flint cried out. Draco forced himself to look up. The statue - Lady Cornelia, he noted - had Flint's wand hand gripped firmly in slender stone fingers. The wand itself was on the floor.

"Malfoy, please! _Do _something."

"Ever had that experience where someone's portrait takes a dislike to you and starts screaming?" Draco examined his nails. This bit was _not _going to be fun. "Well, think of it as just like that."

"_Malfoy_!"

In the end, he watched, because he felt he owed Flint that much. After all, he had been a Slytherin and a fairly good Captain, even if he had had a tendency to blame Draco for every Gryffindor win.

Then he was sick behind the altar - and he couldn't even think of it as a table anymore. His ancestors had used some seriously Dark magic. The table was an altar and Draco had just killed Flint in cold blood. It didn't matter if he hadn't touched him, or that the statues had just been doing what they were made to do. Draco was as responsible for Flint's death as if he'd used Avada Kedavra. He told himself to feel triumph, or satisfaction, or at the very least, relief, but all he felt was cold. Cold to the bone.

The practical part of Draco said _Go - get back up the castle and establish yourself an alibi - the Dark Lord will be suspicious when Flint and partner don't return from patrol. In fact, speaking of the partner - why don't you just go and kill him? That'll be nothing after what you've just done. _But the practical Draco was over-ruled. No, he'd just stay here, wrapped in his own shaking arms.

A shadow fell over the altar, and the surge of panic Draco felt was almost a relief. As he stood, heart pounding, he felt alive. Terrified, but alive.

One statue stood before the altar, blood-splattered but motionless. He recognised it as one of the oldest - Lady Evadne, the rather formidable witch who, so family legends said, had founded both the Malfoy line and this castle. Evadne the Fair, Evadne the Wise, Evadne the Terrible…

The statue had its arm out towards him, and, held delicately in fingers capable of crushing it into splinters, was his wand.

He reached out to take it, slowly, half expecting the statue to move, to do to him what it had to Flint. Crumbling around the edges and thick with centuries of dust, arms splattered with Flint's blood, this effigy of Evadne no longer looked Fair, but it was certainly Terrible.

His fingers touched the wand.

_Blood traitor. Halfbreed. Coward. _The voices cried out both in his head and in the stale air of the cavern, hundreds of them, thunderous in their condemnation. As Draco wrenched his wand free and fled, one rose above the others, a woman's voice, both pleading for salvation and offering it.

_Free me. Free me and save yourself._

* * *

Harry woke with pictures of cups and lockets dancing through his mind. He blinked in the candlelight and tried to put his thoughts in order. He was at the Burrow, and he'd fallen asleep while reading one of the reports; his cheek rested on parchment, now decorated with added drool. The dream…had actually been a pleasant change, created by his own thoughts and feelings rather than Voldemort's. He had been on his broom, chasing snitches that transformed into images of the two known Horcruxes.

A picture of Hufflepuff's cup with tiny fluttering wings slipped into his head, and he found himself smiling as he forced himself to sit up and stretch. The dream was already fading from his memory, as normal, non-Voldemort influenced, dreams usually did, but a few details remained. Malfoy had been in it, Harry recalled, though how and why he couldn't remember.

Not that it mattered. Beating Malfoy to snitches of whatever shape had been an enjoyable part of Harry's life for a long time, and he'd certainly been thinking about the guy enough that day - small wonder he'd found his way into Harry's dream. Hermione would probably have something to say about it, but then Hermione seemed to have plenty to say on the whole subject of Malfoy. Too much to say. Harry just wanted to forget the whole thing had ever happened.

_I was just trying to do what Dumbledore would have wanted. It's a simple enough explanation - why won't anyone accept it? I don't want to be interrogated about my 'belief in redemption' - I don't even know if I have one. Besides, does being a total git mean you automatically need redeeming? _

A light snore drew Harry's attention away from his own thoughts and into the physical world. Ron had fallen asleep on his bed surrounded by parchments. Someone - possibly Hermione, before she'd retreated to her own room - had drawn the bedcovers up over him.

The sight of him made Harry realise how much he needed his own bed. As he huddled down beneath the covers and slipped into sleep, he dreamt once again of flying cups and pale hair streaming in the wind.

* * *

_A/N - More Harry in the next chapter, and more Harry with Draco, because, well, they're better together. Yes._


	4. Chapter 3a

A/N - Thanks so much to Angel-o-Darkness, Jenimi, minoki, amber v and Nudjb for the lovely reviews. It's been so long since I updated - I hope you still remember this!

This chapter grew much too long, so I split it in two.

* * *

_**3a.**_

Draco was a child again. He had to be, because it was years since his mother had hugged him like this. He buried his face in her shoulder, in hair that smelt like flowers, and let the tears come, because he if was a child, dignity no longer mattered.

She stroked his hair and murmured soothing words into his ear. "It's all right, Draco. Everything is going to be all right." And yet something was wrong. Her voice… "You're going to free me and I'm going to make everything better." He pulled back, and looked into eyes that were grey rather than blue, and at a face that was even more beautiful than Narcissa Malfoy's. "I will destroy the Halfblood and his minions, and that pathetic 'Ministry' will have no choice but to bow before me." Draco tried to pull away, but those warm, comforting arms changed to cold, unyielding stone. He was trapped in the embrace of Lady Evadne's statue. "We will make our family great again. Together."

"No -" The word turned into a whimper as the embrace tightened until it hurt. He started to struggle. He couldn't breathe…

"Together."

Darkness descended.

Since when had darkness looked like red velvet? Draco blinked. There was a cushion over his head, and he was trying to breathe through a soggy mouthful of its velvet covering. His arms and legs were tangled up in fabric. A sheet, his brain helpfully noted. The cushions beneath him had shifted while he slept, and too much of his bare skin was touching the cold stone floor.

His heartbeat slowed, his limbs relaxed. Just a dream. He was safe, or at least in Professor Snape's quarters, which was as safe as he could get in this fucking castle.

He moved the cushion so he could breathe easier - then virtually dived back under it as he heard the voices.

"I am merely taking a little pleasure." Snape. But, of course, these were his rooms. "I am not Bellatrix, my lord, wishing only to sit at your feet until it is time to kill. I would be no use to you if I was."

"I value your services, but sometimes you go too far." The Dark Lord. Suddenly that stone floor seemed very inviting - Draco could burrow underneath all those cushions and hide. What the fuck was _he _doing in Snape's rooms? He never came to his underlings - _they _were summoned to _him_. "You are not my equal, and you'd do well to remember that."

"I do, my lord. Always." Draco would have given anything to have been able to see Snape's face at that moment. There was something in his voice that certainly didn't suggest subservience.

"And you, Lucius, do you remember that?"

"I could never forget." Screw hiding - now Draco wished he could just fall through the floor, or perhaps just drop dead. From the sound of it, they were all through in the other room, but the thought of his father coming through into the bedroom and seeing him curled up on the floor at the bottom of Snape's bed, like a dog or worse, a _servant_…he didn't think he could bear it.

"And what do you think of Severus' 'arrangement' with your son?"

"I have no son, my lord. You killed him." Draco couldn't breathe again, and this time it was because his throat seemed to have closed up. His chest hurt. So Snape had told Lucius about the bite, and, apparently, the circumstances of it.

In years past, anyone infected, or even possibly infected, would be killed by their own family, to save them from becoming a monster. It was the kind and socially responsible thing to do. In these more liberal times people made noises about pitying lycanthropes (the do-gooders always used the words lycanthropy and lycanthrope - as if taking away the real words removed the very real danger) while still not wanting to live near them.

The Malfoys had never been a particularly liberal family.

"Of course. But you can be assured that his 'death' will be useful." The Dark Lord's voice was gloating, and Draco felt a surge of emotion, stronger than anything he had ever felt about anyone - real black, total hate. It went counter to all his survival instincts, but he let himself be filled with it, pushing out every flicker of fear or shame until his head was pounding and his body felt like it was actually on fire.

_I hate you. You're going to fall. I'm going to make sure of it. I'm going to watch you ground to dust. I swear on my ancestors' bones, I will see you die._

The hate was still there as he heard the Dark Lord's voice again, closer now. "I know you're awake and listening, boy. Get up." It was there as he untangled himself from the sheet and stood up, facing the men in the doorway. It made his fingers itch to do _something_, to reach for his wand or just try to claw out those red eyes as their gaze flicked over his naked body, filled with curiosity rather than lust.

"Do you _care_ about him, Severus?" It came out as an idle question, but Draco knew what was coming next. The Dark Lord would make Snape crucio him, or worse, to prove he didn't have any feelings that might be revolting and inconvenient in his second-in-command. And Snape would do it. Of course he would. And Draco didn't care if he did. He could feel the hate, his magic rising in response to it.

Snape raised a eyebrow. "I don't understand, my lord."

The two men looked at each other.

"I'm sure you don't." The Dark Lord actually smiled, and the moment was broken. "One of the patrols has failed to return. I want you, Lucius, to take some guards and walk the wards. If they have been breached by something, or some_one_, I want to know about it. As soon as possible."

Lucius nodded. "My lord."

"And you, Severus, I leave you to your pursuit of 'pleasure' - while you can."

The Dark Lord swept out of the room with the skill of one who knows the power of a good exit. The door slammed behind him.

"_I hate him_." The words forced themselves out from between Draco's lips. He managed not to shout, but the snarl that came out instead was a sound that could never be made by a human throat. Lucius flinched, and a sliver of shame managed to force itself through the hate -

- beneath his feet, the cushions burnt and shrivelled, the stone cracked, then the anger was gone, and Draco stood there, shaking from the release of all that built-up magic, feeling like a complete idiot. Snape gave him the sort of look he might give a puppy that had just relieved itself on the carpet - to be honest, the exact same look his mother had given him when, at seven years old, he'd blasted apart a Ming vase during a tantrum.

"Not wise words," Snape said, his tone deceptively mild. "Not in this place, at this time. I could have sworn we'd spoken - at length - about picking your words wisely. Though, Lucius, you're not much better. 'My son is dead. You killed him.'"

"He wanted to hurt me. He'll only be happy if he knows he's succeeded."

_Not one glance in my direction. I really am dead to him. _Draco sat on the edge of the bed and gathered the fur coverlet around himself. Despite the logs burning in the fireplace, the room was very cold. And despite his sleep, he felt so, so tired.

"The experiment with Greyback was intended to hurt me too," Snape said. "The Dark Lord only feels secure in our loyalty when he knows our weaknesses."

"Nice for you that you've managed to feed him a false weakness, then." Draco spoke without really intending to; he was cold and tired and his mouth seemed to be controlled by someone else. "It keeps his attention away from your _real _weak points." And it was true. Oh, Snape had plucked him from the aftermath of the attack on Hogwarts and taken him under his wing, seemingly happy to continue the teacher/student relationship (even if the lessons now were more about survival tactics than spells and potions). He'd transfigured some unlucky rats into cushions for Draco when it became clear he was terrified of going back to his own room to sleep, without a single comment on his cowardice, and when the rumours had started to spread about their relationship, not only did Snape not deny them, but he had actually added some of his own. When Draco had turned up tonight, barefoot and dishevelled, Snape had just looked up from his cauldron, said calmly, "you were here all night, I take it?" and nodded towards the bedroom, all without breaking the rhythm of his stirring. But Draco wouldn't fool himself that any of it was because Snape _cared_.

He'd lose all respect for the man if he did.

He got a half smile from Snape for his impudence. _The puppy might have soiled the carpet, but it__'__s learnt an interesting trick._ "I have no real weak points, and I think that did worry the Dark Lord somewhat. Hence, you."

"And I'm just one big weak point." Hardly the right time to be matching brains with Snape - Draco didn't have the energy for sarcasm, and the words just came out as, well, weak.

Snape looked at him. "Young," he said. Draco tried not to meet his gaze, scared of what he might see there, but Snape's eyes had their own gravity. "Naïve." No pity there, or contempt. "Frequently reckless." Snape's expression was serious and thoughtful. "_Vulnerable_, but not, I would say, weak. Not at all."

"It'll take hours to walk the full extent of the wards." Lucius spoke to Snape, not Draco. "I should get started. Explain to Draco what we need him to do."

_Explain it to me yourself! _But shouting at his father - causing a scene - in front of Snape, would be like voluntarily throwing away his last shreds of dignity. Draco watched the door shut behind Lucius and pulled the furs closer around him, careful to keep his face impassive.

"So," he said, "what _do _you need me to do? Nothing too death-defying or treacherous, I hope? Although I am open to a little treachery at the moment."

Snape sighed. "You made that all too clear. Lucius won't find a breach in the wards, will he?"

"No." And because there was never any point in lying to Snape - "Flint's dead. I don't know about the other one. Perhaps the castle's eaten him."

"Was it self-defence?"

"Probably. You know the castle doesn't like interlopers -"

"Flint."

Draco gave him a bright smile - bright, brittle, and totally fake. "My ancestors were defending my honour - well, right up until the moment they started calling me a halfbreed and a blood traitor." Snape raised an eyebrow; Draco shrugged. "I didn't kill Flint."

He looked around. Ancestral stronghold or not, the place was _wrong_. Cold and hard and intimidating and _wrong. _There were great halls and magnificent corridors, huge storage rooms with their walls filled with racks for potions, tiny cubicles with symbols cut into the floor and atmospheres thick with dread, rooms of astronomical devices, countless rooms seemingly designed for every purpose except one - actually living in. Living in comfort, because Draco couldn't imagine a Malfoy, even one living a thousand years ago, not wanting comfort.

Draco knew castles - the Goyles still lived in one, and, hell, _Hogwarts_ was one. Stone walls should be painted and covered in paintings and tapestries, windows should be filled with pretty leaded glass rather than open to the elements or blocked by heavy wooden shutters, open fires should be there for show rather than actually needed…ditto for fur throws on the furniture. And, most important of all, the building itself shouldn't regard its inhabitants as vermin to be squashed.

"I hate this place."

"I hope you don't feel the same way about the Manor. Your father wants you to go back there and retrieve something for him."

That stopped dead all his thoughts on castles. "But -" _The Ministry requisitioned the Manor for the duration of the war. Mother actually offered them it, because she was sick of the raids and needed to prove her loyalty. _Snape knew that, of course - he'd been the one to talk the Dark Lord into thinking it had been his own brilliant idea - and he hated people telling him things he already knew. "Mother said the Manor was being used as an Auror training school."

"Yes. I did read her letter."

"So that means there will be Aurors there. Lots of them."

The cruel curve of Snape's lips could, if you squinted, be considered a smile. "And how, exactly, is that a problem?"

* * *

The girl vaulted easily over the wall. Plait whipping around behind her, she spun and stunned the two men creeping up behind her. The wall changed, bricks shifting and breaking free. In complete silence, she flicked her wand back and forth, blasting the bricks out of the air as they flew like homing missiles towards her. Then, red brick dust settling in her air and on her skin, she settled into fighting posture, waiting for the next attack. It wasn't long in coming. The air was suddenly filled with the air of rotting flesh. The girl called up fire and the inferi approaching her fell back. 

"You know," she drawled, "I can keep this up for hours, but it'll be boring for our guest. How about calling them off, Sam?"

Beside Harry, Sam Prachett chuckled indulgently. "In real life they won't get called off."

"In real life I could destroy them, but here - well, you don't like your boggarts damaged, do you, Sam?"

"Is that a threat, Flavia?" But Prachett pulled out his wand. "Riddikulus! Riddikulus!" The rotting corpses suddenly sported frilly pink dress robes. Perfume bottles appeared in the air around them, squirting sickly-sweet scent. Flavia applauded as the boggarts retreated in panic to the safety of their trunk.

"Nice. You really are the best boggart-wrangler I've ever met."

"Huh. Is that an insult I detect?"

"Would I?" Flavia flicked brick-dust off her robe and beamed at Harry. "Well, did you enjoy the demonstration?"

"Very much. Um, thanks."

"Harry, this is Flavia Hamilton, our most mouthy student. Flavia, this is Harry Potter."

"I know _that_, silly." Harry held out his hand, but instead of taking it, she put her wand hand to her chest and bowed, still smiling. "Auror Hamilton reporting for duty. Ready to defend you to the death, sir."

Harry flushed. She was joking with him, she had to be. "Er, thanks - I think." She glanced up at him through long lashes, eyes sparkling and lips set in a smirk. The heat in his cheeks seemed to rise another hundred degrees. Was she _flirting _with him? He'd never been comfortable around pretty girls who knew they were pretty, and this one was a good few years older than him, which made it worse.

"Flavia was a curse-breaker before she joined us," Prachett said. "She started out at a higher level than many of the others, and that makes her cocky."

"I prefer to think of myself as confident."

"I'm sure you do. Remember though, while you're strutting around all 'confident', that there's always someone better than you."

"Nah." Flavia smiled at her instructor. The look could have melted a glacier, and made the smirk Harry had been treated to look positively tame. Harry relaxed a bit. "So, do I get the honour of showing the Chosen One around?"

"And get out of training for half an hour?" Prachett frowned; Flavia continued to smile at him, completely unabashed. "Yes, you do. If that's all right with you, Harry? Flavia's harmless, you know - all talk."

"Hey!"

"Sure. I appreciate everyone taking the time to look after me." _Especially when what I _really _need is to have a wander around the house - alone. _Despite what Hermione had told Tonks to get to arrange this visit, Harry wasn't here to see what Auror training was like. He envied the trainees and their skills, and he knew the Ministry would certainly like to have him here, easily monitored and with a neat place in the line of command - but months of combat training would be of no use to him if he faced a Voldemort with all his Horcruxes intact.

"It's a pleasure. We don't get many visitors here - certainly not celebrities, anyway."

"Why would you want to become an Auror, anyway?" Flavia said as they walked away from the assault course. "From what I've heard, you're all super-powered and special. Why lower yourself to fight alongside the plebs? Can't you defeat You-Know-Who all on your lonesome?"

Harry stopped walking and somehow managed to hold back from shouting a response. "No," he said, with what he thought of as heroic calm, "I thought I'd let you do it for me. You seem sure you're better than me."

She turned and looked at him, eyebrow raised and smirk in place. "No offence, kid, but I just don't believe in heroes."

"Neither do I."

"Mmm." Flavia looked at him with interest. Then she shrugged and grinned. "This was a family home until recently, so everything's a bit jury-rigged at the moment. For example, the potions workshops are in the stable block, and we've been doing transfiguration in the Great Parlour." Harry followed her across neatly manicured lawns and around box-hedges cut into representations of fabulous beasts, and tried to tell if he'd offended her. He'd rather she was offended than amused.

"Of course, the instructors like to say how this place is much too grand for a training school, and how we should all be living out in tents in the wilderness somewhere. As if sleeping in a nice house somehow makes us all soft - never mind that we're up from dawn till dusk clambering over assault courses and pouring over books and stirring potions -" Flavia glanced at Harry and laughed. "Am I boring you, hero?"

"It's a nice house," Harry said quickly, and she grinned. It _was_ a nice house. Harry had been expecting some creepy Gothic pile, a kind of composite of all the haunted mansions he'd seen on film. But Malfoy Manor was beautiful. As they walked up to the rear of the house, into a courtyard where the air was fragrant with the scent of flowers and cool from the spray of a splashing fountain, he was wondering if it even had dungeons. It had to, didn't it?

"It reminds me of home. Of course, I used to come here as a kid, to play with Cass -" She must have caught his expression, because she went on, her voice mischievous. "And I was in Slytherin back at school." She laughed. "And you'd be in Gryffindor, right? Even if I didn't know already, I could've guessed from your reaction. A Ravenclaw would sniff and withhold judgement, and a Hufflepuff would be more fearful. Cheer up, Harry. Perhaps I'm not on the side of light and honour - perhaps my brother's a Death Eater, and my family are just hedging their bets. After all, that's what everyone's been saying about the Malfoys, isn't it?" Harry didn't know what to say. Was it so obvious what he was thinking? Flavia's bright smile remained firmly in place. "Ah, I just love the sweet smell of prejudice in the morning!" She looked at Harry's face and sighed. "Look at me, insulting the Chosen One. What a good start to the day!"

"Look - you think I'm prejudiced, I think you're arrogant - maybe it'd be better if I just looked around by myself?" She looked doubtful. "I'm sure you've got better things you could be doing with your free time than babysitting me."

"That's true. And, you know, I'm getting the strangest feeling here - that perhaps you actually _want _to be on your own?"

Harry looked up at the half-timbered wings of the house, pretending to be interested in the architecture. A flock of magpies watched him from the gables. Their chattering call reminded him of Flavia. If she didn't go for this, he was just going to have to lose her somehow.

"If you get lost, injured, or disturb anyone's lessons, you tell them you deliberately wandered off on your own. I'd rather my tutors thought I was careless than lazy. If you're not back here in half an hour, I'll set everybody looking for you." She smiled. "Deal?"

* * *

Hermione's parents had apparently taken her to all kinds of stately homes as a kid; needless to say, the Dursleys hadn't done the same with Harry. He felt strange just wandering into someone's home, however grand. It felt like trespassing. 

He tried thinking of this as a raid. But that didn't help. Then he felt like he was trespassing _and _stealing. Or he would be if he found what he was looking for.

A mahogany cabinet in the Long Gallery, Hermione had said. This room was certainly long. Light streamed in through the windows that filled one wall, making it seem to be made entirely of intricate traceries of glass and lead. The other walls were covered in what could be portraits, hidden behind heavy velvet drapes. He could hear whispering voices and the odd snore from behind them.

There was a carved wooden cupboard in the corner.

The report that had sent Harry on this possible wild-goose chase had been thirteen years old. The officials involved had looked in this cabinet and been unable to identify any of the items within as Dark artefacts, but had listed them, with quite detailed descriptions, for future reference. Everything on that list might have been moved by now, or taken with Narcissa when she had left the house, but, as Hermione's new, incredibly irritating, catchphrase seemed to be, _we have few enough leads - we have to follow them all up_.

The cabinet door wasn't locked. When Harry peered inside, he saw why - it was full of rubbish. Trinkets - nothing which looked of any value. Certainly no Hufflepuff's cup -

Something glinted gold in the shadows at the back.

It wasn't a cup, though. When Harry pulled it out, he found himself looking at a portrait of a little girl. The painting was only the size of his palm, but the brushstrokes were so fine it was like looking at a photograph. What he'd seen in the cupboard had been the light reflecting off its ornate gold frame, which was confusing. Why put a picture in such a fancy frame, then stuff it away at the back of a cupboard?

The girl flicked her long blond hair over her shoulder and looked around. "Who's there?" She looked down at the hand holding her frame, the only part of Harry not covered by the invisibility cloak, and frowned. "Reveal yourself!"

She couldn't have been any older than ten or eleven, but the command in her voice was well practiced. Harry had never been good at obeying orders. The cloak stayed on. "Who are you?"

"If you're going to be so rude as to stay invisible while you're talking to me, I can be rude too." She lifted her chin and looked down her nose in a way that was very familiar. "If you don't know who I am, then you're not a friend of the family and I really don't think you should be allowed to wander about our house all invisible. Are you a burglar?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Then why are you invisible? I'll raise the alarm. I'll do it, you know." She raised her voice. "I'll scream!"

Harry looked at the drapes. The room had suddenly gone quiet. The portraits had stopped whispering amongst themselves, and even the snores had stopped. He had the sudden impression of a hundred painted ears listening carefully to their conversation, prepared to raise the alarm.

"Ok, fine." He pulled the hood off. "Satisfied?"

"Oh." The girl peered at him. "You're younger than I thought." She sniffed. "Just as scruffy, though." There was a piece of faded pink ribbon tied to the frame; Harry examined it and tried not feel uncomfortable under her continued scrutiny. "Have you got a girlfriend?"

He dropped the picture, frame and ribbon and all. _God - and I thought Myrtle was bad! _When he picked it back up, he was ready to stuff everything back in the cupboard and give it up as a bad job, but the piping voice from the picture stopped him. "Don't put me back in there! No one comes to talk to me anymore - it's not fair! Draco's supposed to be with me, but he's always leaving me to go to his other portraits, even if they are older and tell him to 'sod off'. But I haven't got any other portraits and I don't know why! Leave me out," she swallowed hard, then spat out the word as if it offended her, "_please_."

She seemed on the verge of tears. Harry reminded himself that wizard portraits, however alive they seemed, were just paint and canvas - they didn't _feel_. But he put the picture on top of the cabinet, propped up so she could see around the room.

"You can stay there if you want. Now - I've helped you, can you help me? That cabinet you were in - was there once a golden goblet in there with you? About so -" he gestured "- big, with badgers on it?"

The little girl turned from grateful to belligerent in a second. "What do you want with my cup?"

"Yours?"

"Mother used to take if off me, but I always got it back. It had badgers on it. None of my other stuff had badgers - only snakes, and I _hate _snakes." She pouted. "It was one of my favourite things in the whole world, and Father gave it to that dreadful, grumpy man. I'm never going to forgive him!"

Harry found himself staring at her, and forced himself to blink. His heart was racing in time with the words flying around in his head. _We're on the right trail. We're on the right trail. We can do this. We can find the Horcruxes. _Part of him hadn't believed it possible until that moment.

The click of the door latch seemed to come from far, far away. Harry's body had reflexes that were quite independent of his brain; even before he realised that yes, the door _was _opening and someone was coming into the room, his hands were fumbling with the cloak's hood, dragging it over his head.

Not that Flavia would have noticed if he'd been standing there completely naked. She walked through the gallery in a perfect straight line, looking at nothing, not even the open cabinet. Eyes blank and face expressionless, she was barely recognisable as the laughing, flirtatious girl Harry had met.

He wanted to ask the little girl's portrait more questions, especially about this 'grumpy man', but Flavia's appearance was setting off all his alarm bells. She was carrying something under her arm - some kind of metal box…

"I'll be back," he told the girl, and even the sound of his voice in the empty room didn't make Flavia pause. In fact, she gave no sign of even hearing him. "Please, think if there's anything else you can tell me. This man your father gave the cup to - did you know him? Had he been to the house before?" The door at the other end of the gallery clicked shut behind Flavia, and Harry shouted his last words over his shoulder as he ran after her. "Please - think!" As he pulled open the door, he saw her pass quickly across the corridor - and disappear into the wall.

"What the -"

The wall Flavia had disappeared into appeared totally solid, and the dark oak panelling on it looked exactly the same as that covering the walls around it. If Dudley's horror films had taught Harry anything, it was that old mansions were just as riddled with secret passages as Hogwarts, but he hadn't seen her open any hidden doorway, just pass the wall like a ghost. And Flavia was as real and flesh-and-blood as Harry. He reached out to touch the panelling - and his fingertips felt nothing but cool air.

He shook his arm free of the invisibility cloak and stepped closer to the wall, watching with horrified fascination as his hand was apparently swallowed by the wood.

So the panelling there was an illusion. And behind the illusion? Harry took a deep breath and stepped forward to find out.

He found himself in a bedroom. The four-poster with its thick velvet hangings was more of a Emperor-size bed than a King-size, and the whole room was thick with dust, which was odd, because a little illusion like that would hardly stop the House-elves from getting in to clean, but it was still just a bedroom. There was a little pile of books on the window seat, some open, as if someone came here regularly to read. They had dust on them too, Harry noticed as he moved over to look.

Shakespeare, Shelley, Forester, Rimbaud, Burroughs, Perella, Sartre…the books were a mad mixture of novels, poems, plays and pure ideas, and an impressive mixture of languages, but Harry was almost certain - almost, since he knew he wasn't as well read as he could be - that they had one thing in common. The authors were all Muggles.

He ran his fingers over the dusty covers and wondered who at Malfoy Manor would keep a stash of Muggle books in a secret room. Narcissa, perhaps? He couldn't see Lucius or Draco sitting down to read _Le Avventure di Pinnocchio_. But then, he couldn't really see Narcissa pouring over _Captain Hornblower R.N._.

It was only a little mystery, however. The larger one was what happened to Flavia.

She'd been in there; there were footsteps in the dust, too small to be Harry's. They led to a door, camouflaged by the panelling but at least not invisible this time

Harry made sure he was completely covered by his cloak. Then, wand in hand and ready for whatever might be through there, he flung open the door. And was promptly attacked by branches.

It took a moment of fighting free before he released this was no evil relative of the whomping willow, just a lilac bush that had grown up around the door. He was standing in a tiny walled garden. A glance back showed him that, yes, the bedroom window overlooked the steep gabled roof of the west wing, and the Long Gallery had been on the ground floor. But this was no time to be wondering about the oddness of that, because Flavia was in the garden, and she wasn't alone.

Draco Malfoy was standing next to her, wand in hand. Harry froze, his eyes slowly adjusting to the bright sunlight. The light seemed to catch in Malfoy's hair, bound up in it as if it belonged there. He stood surrounded by a colourful chaos of flowers, beside a fountain that sent spray sparkling up in the air around him, and looked so perfectly in place, even with his black robes and those hard grey eyes…that were staring straight back at Harry.

No, not actually _at _him, Harry realised as he fought the impulse to just hex the other boy down on the spot. _Through _him - Malfoy was looking at the door swinging shut behind him. Not necessarily anything to be relieved about - Malfoy knew about the invisibility cloak, and had caught Harry out once before.

Malfoy frowned. Harry moved away from the door, careful where he put his feet, equally careful not to brush up against any more of the overhanging branches. The subtle crunch of bone-dry grass beneath his feet was barely noticeable - no louder than the humming of the bees darting between flowers, or the splashing of the little fountain, or the breeze that rustled the leaves and caught at Malfoy's hair, sending bright strands flicking into his face. Another step and Harry would be able to reach out and touch him. He was already close enough to see the furrow between pale brows smooth out, the hard line of Malfoy's mouth relax and his lips curl into a smile.

Malfoy shook his head, still smiling - probably amused at his own jumpiness, Harry decided - and turned back to Flavia.

She held out the metal box, face expressionless. Harry took the opportunity to get a closer look at it. It didn't look very impressive - tarnished metal, bound shut with leather so old it was actually decaying - but as he stared at it, he felt a twist of nausea in his stomach. His skin itched and he felt suddenly dirty.

Malfoy gingerly took the box. The only contact he allowed himself to make with it was to hook a couple of fingers under one of the leather straps. "Thank you, Flavia - I think." The expression on his face told Harry everything he needed to know - Malfoy could feel the effects of the box too, and he didn't like it. More and more, it seemed that Slytherin's golden boy wasn't as blasé about Dark magic as he liked to appear.

An unwanted memory slipped into Harry's head - Malfoy gloating over that grotesque Hand of Glory in Borgin and Burkes - the one he'd later bought and used. 'Not blasé' didn't mean 'completely disgusted by', not by a long stretch of the imagination.

As if as a coda to that thought, Malfoy casually flicked his wand in Flavia's direction.

Life and awareness flashed back into her face. A smile of recognition - _god, of course, she knows the Malfoys, doesn't she? _- turned into a look of startled horror as she went for her wand. But Malfoy's was already in his hand.

"Stupefy." The red light hadn't even faded before he span in Harry's direction. "_Petrificus Totalus_."

Harry hit the ground only a couple of seconds after Flavia.

Staring up into the blue sky, he couldn't even shiver as he felt those long fingers touch his body. Of course, Harry told himself, he was invisible and Malfoy was just trying to get a grip on the cloak - he couldn't possibly know where he was putting his hands, and would probably be horrified if he did.

Harry didn't believe he could feel any more helpless and humiliated. Then Malfoy dragged the cloak free and his hateful voice rang out.

"Are you feeling the déjà vu, Potter? I certainly am."


	5. Chapter 3b

* * *

_**3b.**_

The Wisdom of Severus Snape, lesson fourteen: "There's no shame in a little paranoia, especially when there are people actually out to get you."

Draco watched the door swing shut, and the branches of the lilac bush thrash about, and thought about invisibility cloaks and dematerialisation potions. It was a heavy door - it wouldn't just swing open by itself. No - someone or something had just come through it.

He thought about sending a hex in that general direction, just on principle, but whoever or whatever it was had probably moved away from the door by now, and he didn't want them to be provoked into retaliation - not while he couldn't be sure where exactly they were. He looked down - perhaps it was his imagination, or the aforementioned paranoia, but the grass was long and springy, and there were two flattened patches in it, just the right size and shape to be footprints…

Invisibility cloak, then. Draco smiled and turned away from the footprints. Calm and unconcerned, that was the ticket - they were obviously here to spy, not to fight - he had to let them think they'd got away with it, for now. Invisibility cloak, though - he only knew one person with one of those, and _he _couldn't be here - it would be a sick joke by the universe if he was.

_Relax. If it was Harry Potter he would have tried to murder me by now - it's his way._

The Hamilton girl held out the box. Draco had been surprised to find her here, amongst the Aurors. He'd always presumed the Hamiltons would have been on the Dark Lord's side from the start. On his side, or exterminated. High-born Purebloods who refused to stand with their own kind were even more hated than Mudbloods. It was a stroke of luck as well as a surprise.

When he'd apparated into the garden, he'd been expecting to have to go sneaking into the house. After all, that was what his great-great-grandfather had intended when he had manipulated the wards so that this one small spot was open for Apparation. Back in his day, it had been his lover who sneaked into the house, into the unplottable and regularly moving room that served as their refuge against both society and that Malfoy patriarch's very formidable wife. Later generations had left the hole in the wards as it was, as an escape route in times of trouble. Draco could have got into the house through the secret room, but he didn't know how many Aurors were inside and he - unlike some lucky person who was standing just a few feet away from him, creating a person-sized gap in the fountain's spray - didn't have an invisibility cloak. Finding Flavia here alone had been perfect. Not only was she an Auror, and able to wander where she pleased, she also knew the Manor well enough that, even Imperiused, she hadn't needed many directions.

And, so, without any major effort on his part, he had what he'd come for. It didn't look like it was worth even that much effort. It was only a small box, probably silver under all that black tarnish, and it was dented in several places. Draco felt that if he was going to risk his life for a mysterious box, and not even be told what was in it, then the box itself should be made of gold and decorated with precious gems. It should certainly _not _make him feel uncomfortable and not want to touch it.

He reached out to take it; his fingers slipped on the metal, and he could _feel_ the thick layer of grease on it even if he couldn't see it. So he hooked his fingers under the leather binding. That at least didn't require much touching of the actual box.

"Thank you, Flavia - I think."

What his father and Snape were planning to do with the contents of the box, Draco didn't know, but they were welcome to it. _In fact, I__'__ll just get it back to them, as quickly as possible__…_ There were just a couple of things he had to do first.

Because Flavia had been a family friend, he took the Imperius curse off her before stunning her. It was only polite. Then he sent a hex in the direction of his watcher.

The sense of déjà vu that swept over him as he finally managed to get the cloak off the immobilised body was powerful and almost painful. It had been a little under a year since that compartment on the Hogwarts Express, but here they were again - Draco standing over a supine Harry Potter, wanting to curse him into oblivion.

A lot had changed since - Draco couldn't even think about his younger self's idealism and blind loyalty to the Dark Lord without flinching - but too much was the same. Potter was clearly still the same clumsy, reckless, nosy, stupid, interfering git - _and it__'__s the reckless, stupid and clumsy bits that really make me mad. He__'__s supposed to defeat the Dark Lord and put everything back to normal - how the fuck is he going to do that when he__'__s so damn _useless

Draco stared down at Potter and felt none of the old hatred - his hate now had so much more worthy targets. Instead he felt intense dislike, frustration that the fate of the world was apparently in the hands of this creature, and irritation. Lots of irritation.

"What the fuck is _wrong _with you? Do you get some kind of perverted kick out of snooping around, watching me without me knowing?" There was no answer from Potter, just a glare - _obviously _- but Draco was on a roll. "I'm not even going to ask what you're doing here, in _my _home, or how you knew I was here, but there must be something seriously fucking wrong with your life, if you have keep sticking your nose into mine. It's fucking creepy, and stalkerish, and…is it about gloating? Well, enjoy it while you can, Potter, because you might be hailed as a hero all across the Wizarding World, and I might be so deep into the shit I'm almost drowning, but that won't last. The Dark Lord doesn't just want you dead - he wants to do it himself, up close and personal. You're already dead meat."

_Dead meat_. Potter's glasses had been knocked askew by the fall, and he had grass caught in his hair. His face was frozen in an expression of frankly comical surprise. _He must know that, surely? He's crazy, but he's not entirely thick. He can't _really_ think he stands a chance against the Dark Lord? _

_It's a nice thought, though - I can see why everyone's clinging to it._

Draco sat down on the grass beside Potter, and picked up the invisibility cloak. Such a useful garment - and not just for snooping round like Potter used it. To be invisible was to be free. You could become like a ghost - hide in plain sight - escape everything.

He sighed. Such a sweet thought. Shame it could never happen.

"So," he said to Potter, "what do we do now? We could pay a visit to the Dark Lord. He'd be happy to see you - so happy he might not even ask me what I was doing here. Not that I can be certain about that. It seems like nothing's certain when it comes to -"

The sharp crack of Apparation cut off both his words and that train of thought. Draco looked up through the fountain's curtain of water at the woman who had appeared beyond it - and threw the invisibility cloak back over Potter and the box.

* * *

A surge of black robes and pale hair, and Malfoy was on his feet, fending off a curse that seemed to Harry to come out of nowhere. 

His first thought when Malfoy tossed the cloak over him was _Rescued_. His second was how embarrassing it was to need rescuing. His third was that Prachett and others had been very firm on the fact that Apparating, whether in the house or out on the grounds, was impossible. The only place where the wards allowed Apparation was outside the front doors. And that had definitely been the sound of Apparation…

Malfoy stood over him in fighting stance, but no second attack came.

"Draco? What are you doing here?" Harry recognised the voice, and silently cursed the creator of the Body-Bind jinx.

"I could ask you the same, Aunt."

The air was broken by more cracks, and black figures appeared in Harry's peripheral vision. The angle of his glasses made them blurred, but they were unmistakable. Death Eaters.

Bellatrix loomed over him, a bright, wild smile on her face as she faced her nephew. "It _begins_, Draco. _Finally_."

In comparison with her fierce joy, Malfoy was showing all the emotion of a statue. "What begins?"

"_Victory_." Malfoy's face didn't even twitch, but Harry saw his fingers tighten on his wand. "Through the door!" she snarled at her forces. "Over there, fools. Quickly - the room often changes location within the house - I don't want you unnecessarily split up." Malfoy frowned; Bellatrix laughed. "Oh - you thought your great grand-daddy's little love nest was a family secret? Well, little boy, I'm family, and I chose to tell the secret." As the Death Eaters obediently moved towards the door, she called after them. "Remember - no prisoners required."

Harry wanted to scream. He tried to force movement out of his hand through will power alone. He was still holding his wand - he was hopeless at non-verbal magic, but maybe, just maybe, if he could just move his fingers…

More Death Eaters were apparating into the garden; Harry had been lucky so far, no one had landed on him, but his luck couldn't hold out. He also didn't know what Malfoy was going to do. Why had he hidden Harry?

_He could just want the glory of catching me all to himself. _

With that comforting thought, Harry redoubled his efforts. Then Malfoy cursed and spun around, standing on Harry's ankle and stumbling as he tried to get some distance away from the man who'd just Apparated in behind him.

Harry could have recognised Fenrir Greyback from the stench alone, which was a good job since his face was covered in a twisted network of new scars. When he smiled, they moved into strange patterns. "Surprised to see me, pup?" He stepped closer. Malfoy, already half-standing on Harry, had nowhere left to go. Greyback caught hold of a handful of his hair and, with a swift yank on it, dragged him closer. "We heal fast," he rumbled, "and there are other advantages."

Harry watched fine hair flow like liquid platinum through brutish fingers, and felt sick. _Don__'__t touch him. Don__'__t you fucking _dare _touch him_… He was surprised by the depth of his relief as Malfoy's wand-tip was jabbed into Greyback's throat.

"Want to try healing from Avada Kedavra?"

Greyback roared with laughter, then calmly and deliberately brought the handful of hair up to his nose and inhaled its scent. "Talk as big as you like, little one. Later in the month you'll _howl _for me."

Malfoy's reaction was instant. "_Crucio_." The word was snarled. The Unforgiveable curses required both focused intent and power, and from the way Greyback went straight to the floor, screaming, Malfoy had both. He really wanted to cause pain, and if Harry was shocked by the malevolence in Malfoy's eyes and twisted smile, he was also shocked at his own reaction.

_He deserves to hurt._

Bellatrix looked on, smiling, idly twisting her wand between long fingers. "Draco," she said eventually, "while I approve of your aggression, please let Fenrir get up. I need him."

Malfoy ignored her for long, drawn out, noisy seconds, then he grinned and put up his wand. "You howl so much better than I ever could," he informed the panting werewolf.

"You little -" Whatever Greyback was going to say was bitten back as he found Malfoy's wand pointed back his way.

"I should have killed you. If you touch me again, I swear on the bones of my ancestors, I'll do it."

Harry thought about the memory Malfoy had shown him. That had been Greyback, he was sure of it, and he was certainly alive. Harry didn't know quite what to make of that. So the memory Malfoy had chosen to show Harry that he was a killer hadn't in fact ended in a death - did that mean he had never killed?

"This isn't quite so aggressive, though." Bellatrix stood over Flavia's crumpled form and looked askance at Malfoy. "Auror?" He nodded. She sighed. "Avada Kedavra."

Malfoy shut his eyes against the green light; Harry wasn't as lucky.

* * *

"No prisoners," Bellatrix said, with that bright smile that always meant someone, somewhere, was dead or maimed. Draco thought of Potter, hidden away beneath the cloak, and realised that particular decision had already been made for him. Potter could stay alive for at least one more day. "You can come with us, Draco. Fight for the glory of your master." 

Draco nodded. _Only when all hell freezes over._ He waited while the remaining Death Eaters filed through the door, trying his best to look eager for the fight. Greyback glowered at him; Draco stared calmly back. _I know something you don__'__t know._

_And when we get back, I'll tell the Dark Lord that Harry Potter was here, and you were too busy maiming and killing to even notice him, much less _capture _him. That should go down well._

_Of course, I'll have to think of some reason _I _didn't capture him myself. But I'll come up with something. The Dark Lord already thinks I'm incompetent. Never thought that could actually be a good thing…_

He swept the cloak off Potter and picked up the box. One foot on his wand hand, just to make sure, he released Potter from his frozen state and finally wiped that irritating expression from his face. One swipe of the wand turned the look of surprise into one of anger and confusion.

"You can go."

"You're not giving me up?"

"I'm feeling charitable." Draco eased his foot away, but kept his own wand levelled. "Just be grateful and piss off. You can disapparate from here."

Potter scrambled to his feet. Even the grass in his hair was starting to irritate Draco now; he kept wanting to pick it out. "What the fuck are you playing at?"

The quiet of the garden was broken by sounds drifting over the walls and out from the open bedroom door - shouts and screams and explosions. Draco had to smile at that - once again he was standing talking to Potter while the real fight went on without them. _And that suits me just fine._ "Seems the Aurors weren't caught off guard, then," he said.

Potter adjusted his glasses and peered at him through them. "Greyback's screaming might have had something to do with that," he said mildly. There was a question in there, in his tone, in the way he looked at Draco - a question that had very little to do with the actual words spoken.

Draco shrugged. "It might." And that was as close to an answer as he felt like giving. _It__'__s not as if I deliberately tipped the Aurors off. I just didn__'__t care if I did. Two different things, and if Potter is going to confuse them, things could get messy. _"This isn't your fight. Get out while you can."

"Not my fight? Of course it's my fight!"

"Look - try breaking the habit of a lifetime and actually thinking for a change. My aunt said it was _beginning_. She talked about _victory_. Do you really think that a stupid little raid on a training school would get her so excited? Bellatrix Lestrange, nee Black, who lives to bathe in the blood of her enemies? But, sorry, I forgot, you don't think, do you, Potter?"

Potter stared at him as if he was mad. "The Ministry?"

"It's about time he made a move, don't you think?" Draco said, as carefully casual as if he was discussing Quidditch tactics.

_The war is starting in earnest - and all I want is for it to stop._

"Look - just fuck off, Potter. Run as far as you can -"

Potter hit him. To say it was the last thing he expected was a little bit of an understatement. As pain flared, his head snapped back, and he tasted blood in his mouth, and Potter was diving forward, grabbing his wand hand, all he could think was: _but I was doing you a favour._ The impact drove all the air from his body as he hit the floor, trapped between the hard ground and Potter's surprisingly heavy body.

"Ok, I'm going. But you're coming with me."

Draco's first impulse was to thrash about and shout, and that, he guessed, would be what Potter's actions would be if their positions were reversed. So he spat blood and glared at Potter, because that would be expected, and pointedly _didn__'__t _thrash about. Instead he wriggled, testing Potter's grip on his wrists.

Potter's face was much too close, his breath warm on Draco's skin, and this whole situation was really uncomfortable, in ways that went beyond Potter's weight and bony body and hard fingers. His expression as he looked down at him was…strange. Partially open mouth and flushed cheeks and the famous green of his eyes almost swallowed up by the size of his pupils…and he must have another wand or something in his pocket, because it was digging painfully into his belly even through three layers of fabric…_Shit! _

Bugger getting enough leverage - Draco shoved his body upwards, all his strength behind the effort, twisted his hips - and Potter must have been taken off guard, because he was suddenly free, fingers reaching for his fallen wand…

Then Potter was back on top of him, and this time he did thrash around. Because the bastard was getting off on this, and maybe he _was_ just enjoying getting his own back too much…_but while I might have had him helpless a couple of times, and enjoyed it, I never chucked myself on top of him - this is going too far._

"What the fuck do you want from me, Potter? So, you think you've caught me out - I'm not loyal to the Dark Lord. Shouldn't you be killing the bastard and fulfilling your destiny and giving me my life back?"

Potter blinked. His fingers tightened around Draco's wrists. "It's not that simple."

Draco curled his bust lip as best he could. It hurt spectacularly, but the answering expression from Potter as he drawled, "I'm sure it isn't," was more than worth it. No more weirdness or inappropriate enjoyment - Potter was angry.

It seemed getting Harry Potter angry was still what he was best at.

"They came in through here - there must be another way out -" The bedroom door slammed open again. Potter twisted round, wand pointed - and Draco managed to stop his opportunistic punch just in time. Because they were looking at the wand points of a group of rather dishevelled young Aurors.

"Harry!" An older man pushed through the group. "Thank Merlin you're ok." His eyes went to Draco and narrowed. "Who's this?"

Draco tried to look as innocent and harmless as possible. Potter's hand was covering his Dark Mark, but it was probably clear that they'd been fighting. And they were sharing the garden with a dead body…at that thought he felt sick. He hadn't wanted that.

_Yes, if I was the Auror, I know what conclusions I'd be jumping to around now._

One of the young Aurors was on her knees beside Flavia, sobbing. Potter got to his feet and faced the older man. "He saved my life." Draco hastily pulled the sleeve down over his arm. Potter looked down at him, eyes hard. "And now I'm saving his."


	6. Chapter 4a

A/N - just a quick, short update. x

**_4a._**

Harry sat with two of the Aurors, who had volunteered their names as Gerald and Rhiannon, and tried to pretend he wasn't watching Draco Malfoy. The boy in question was standing by himself by the open window, pointedly ignoring everyone else in the room. The hands clasped behind his back seemed just an extension of his straight-backed, Sergeant-Major-like posture - if you didn't know that the voluminous sleeves of his robe hid his bound wrists.

The Auror safe-house - well, safe-_flat_ - that Prachett had delivered them to before dashing back off to the Ministry was in the centre of Muggle London. Charing Cross Road, to be exact, conveniently close to the Leaky Cauldron. Malfoy was looking out of the window with every sign of interest; Harry wondered idly what he was thinking. He was certainly plotting his escape, but the world he looked out over had to be completely alien to him. Was he listening to the rumble of traffic in horror, breathing in the thick, hot, fume-laden air with disgust?

Harry gave up any pretence of following the conversation and stood up. Malfoy's eyes flicked towards him briefly, but that was his only acknowledgement of Harry as he joined him at the window.

"You know, the cuffs were Prachett's idea -"

"A sensible precaution," Malfoy said calmly. Harry followed his gaze four stories down, to the street below. Night had fallen, but the city still bustled with its usual hysterical energy. The street was alive with people, bright with street-lamps and headlights and neon shop-signs. The theatre opposite was gaudy with colour and light; the giant billboard attached to his front proclaimed its latest attraction - a musical version of _Beauty and the Beast_. "He, at least, could see I don't want to be here."

Far below them, a group of people spilled out of a black cab. Their voices, loud and happy, floated up to the watchers above.

Malfoy watched them as they staggered off down the street. "So," he said, "is handing me over to the Ministry your idea of 'saving' me?"

"I'm not handing you over to the Ministry." No response. In a way, Harry was glad, because the next logical question would be _then what _are _you planning to do with me? _and he didn't have an answer to that one yet. His planning hadn't got any further than 'get Malfoy away from the Death Eaters'.

He looked at the other boy, painted golden by the light from the street lamps, and sighed. Malfoy had been very quiet since they'd apparated away from the Manor. He hadn't said anything when Prachett had insisted on cuffing him, and the few things he had said had been, if not exactly polite, then at least not offensive. It made Harry uneasy.

"Can you unbind me?" Malfoy swallowed hard. "_Please_." Harry stared at him, wondering if he'd stepped through into a parallel universe. Malfoy scowled. "I need to use the bathroom, Potter. Don't make me go into fucking details."

* * *

It was amazing how that one polite little word had immediately put Potter on his guard, but the mixture of contempt and irritation that followed it made him relax. Draco wondered if he knew how open and readable his face was.

Potter was only one to relax, however. "We can't release him." Draco glared at the speaker - Annabelle something-or-the-other. "Prachett said -"

"You don't want me to soil my robes, do you, sweetheart?" And he made damn sure that when he said 'sweetheart' everyone knew he was thinking something else. That whole 'polite' thing was getting old, anyway. He lowered his voice. "Unless, of course, you _like _that sort of thing?" Her face blazed with colour, but she didn't back down.

"Someone will have to go in with you."

"And what fun _that_ will be." Draco leered. "Are you volunteering?"

"I'll come," Potter said, taking his arm.

"You better not!" Draco spat. "Though I won't be fucking surprised if you do, after that earlier performance." Then it was Potter's turn to blush. Draco thought back to the garden, to the weight and heat of Potter's body, all its hard angles, Potter's obvious excitement, and really wished he hadn't brought it up. Potter's fingers tightened on his arm. Draco tried to pull free, but that only made the grip tighten until it was downright uncomfortable. He could feel heat creeping across his own face. "That hurts."

"Good."

Potter virtually dragged him into the bathroom. Hands bound, he couldn't even brace himself as he was flung against the wall. He managed to turn his head, but his face still hit the tiles with painful force.

"I don't know why I'm bothering with you," Potter muttered. He was much too close for comfort, especially with the memory of the garden fresh in Draco's head. The heat of his body was even more invasive than the death grip he still had on Draco's arm.

"I don't either." Potter's wand slid between his wrists. His breath was soft and warm on the back of Draco's neck as he mumbled his way through the counter-spell. "Why don't you just forget about this? Give me my wand back and I'll be on my way. If we meet again we can toss curses at each other just like the good old days -"

Potter stepped back. Such a small movement that the relief Draco felt was completely out of proportion. The cuffs disintegrated into curls of smoke that tickled his wrists.

"Go on, then. Do what you have to."

"Turn around."

"Oh, for -"

"You don't want to watch me, do you?"

Potter turned away. "Fine. Satisfied?"

_Almost. _

One thing about Muggle clothes - it was very hard to hide anything in them. Potter still had Draco's wand tucked into the waistband of his trousers; the shape of it was clearly visible through the thin fabric of his shirt.

He moved. His fingers were barely on the wand before Potter was reacting, spinning around, knocking it out of his hand. _And the pervy git must have been watching me in the mirror, because _nobody _has reflexes that fast…_

Draco had never learned hand-to-hand fighting. Only Muggles and weak wizards had to resort to something as crude as using their fists. He still believed that, but finding himself grappling with Potter for the second time in twenty-four hours, he decided to lower his standards. After all, if Muggles could master it -

Potter lashed out with his foot. For the second time that day Draco found himself falling to the ground with Potter on top of him - _and we are _not _doing this again._ The shock of the impact didn't stop him bringing his knee up. Potter's startled whimper made the whole thing worthwhile.

Draco shoved the suddenly preoccupied hero off him with more force than he intended. He seized his wand and got to his feet. Screw escaping - the only thing keeping Potter whole and alive was that he couldn't decide which hex to hit him with first.

_Who the fuck does he think he is, throwing me about like a fucking house-elf?_

Potter groaned. He was still curled around the main source of his pain, but there was blood splattered over his face, his glasses were hanging off one ear, and the straight line of his nose wasn't that straight anymore. There were matching splatters of blood on the edge of the white bath-tub. _Potter must have cracked his face on it_. Draco looked at him with a complete lack of sympathy, but still felt his temper recede somewhat. _Hexing him now would probably be overkill._

Then he remembered something that made him want to smash Potter's face into the tub all over again. The box - the precious box that he'd been sent into a nest of Aurors to retrieve - was in the living room with Annabella Whatsit and her friends. Draco couldn't just Apparate away without it.

He swore. Then almost jumped out of his skin as the bathroom door opened behind him.

Pratchett looked at his pointed wand and blinked. "Come on, boys - Scrimgeour wants all Aurors back at the Ministry."

"I'm not an Auror." But Pratchett knew that. In fact, Pratchett had made it clear he thought Draco was a criminal who should be Apparated straight over to Azkaban. So why was he smiling at him like that?

"Even trainee ones." The man's cheerfulness was starting to grate on Draco's nerves. "Looks like your friend needs some help, son. Pick him up and come along."

Draco plucked off Potter's broken glasses and put them in his pocket, then eased Potter's arm over his shoulder. "What's going on?" Of course, Potter was probably half-blind without the glasses.

"Something bad, I think." He got a good look at Pratchett as they made their way back into the living room.

Imperius was a very versatile and useful curse. At one end of the spectrum, applied with the lightest touch, it could be used like a pair of tweezers to tweak one tiny point in the victim's mind. At the other, it could be a hammer to smash the will and quite possibly the personality in the process. As someone who was capable of a light touch, but found the hammer method much easier, Draco looked at Pratchett and recognised the results.

In the fireplace, the flames burnt high and green, and the last of the students was walking into it. Draco's box was still sitting on the coffee table, and Potter's cloak was slung over the back of the sofa; Pratchett didn't look at either.

_That's the trouble with using the heavily Imperiused for errands - they only do what they're told to. _

"Go on, lad." Pratchett had his own wand pointed now. Imperiused or not, he'd reacted to Draco's hesitation with commendable speed.

Draco stepped into the flames. "Ministry of Magic," he said clearly, and refused to dwell on what might be waiting for them there.

* * *

The world was a shifting mess of pain, dizziness and blurred shapes and colours. Harry managed to ignore the pain long enough to stagger out of the fireplace into a space that was noisy and big enough to be the Atrium at the Ministry, then relaxed against Malfoy's bony shoulder.

_Something bad_. The words hadn't meant much at the time. Harry had been too busy trying not to pass out. Anyway, what would Malfoy consider _bad_?

He had his answer.

"Take their wands!"

"Look who it is!"

Harry didn't need perfect vision to know what the black-clad figures crowding around them were. Rough hands pulled them apart, Malfoy protesting loudly. "I'm on your side, you fool!"

"That's not what I've heard." One of the Death Eaters got close enough for Harry to see his face; he didn't recognise it, but the very fact that he wasn't wearing a mask was enough of a shock. So, they were _that_ confident of their victory?

"It's nice of you to finally join us, Draco."

Harry froze. He knew that voice…and the owner of that voice knew him. He knew he must look a mess, but Snape had glared at him across a classroom for six years - surely he wouldn't be fooled by a bit of blood and no glasses…

The Death Eater holding Harry was shoved out of the way, and that hated but familiar face came into view. Snape stared at him. His mouth twitched.

"Put this one in with the non-combatants."

"And the traitor?"

"I'll deal with him."

Harry heard a couple of sniggers from the surrounding Death Eaters, and a whispered "I bet he will."

He didn't have time to ponder that comment before he was dragged off.

It was as he was being thrown into a dark room full of faceless, miserable people that he heard it - a sound he'd only heard in dark, Voldemort-induced dreams. It was faint, only reaching Harry thanks to the acoustics of the Ministry's famously echoing corridors, but he recognised it.

Malfoy was screaming.


	7. Chapter 4b

A/N - another quickie.

* * *

**_4b._**

Draco slowly uncurled his body, sucking in great painful gulps of air. His cheeks were wet, and he scrubbed his face with the sleeve of his robe, angrily removing every last trace of tears. Snape watched him impassively. His mentor leaned against the wall, wand still pointed in his direction.

"It seems your lungs are in fine working order. Congratulations."

"Thanks." The word came out as a croak. _My lungs might be 'fine', but my throat's fucked._

Snape moved his hand; Draco's flinch was reflexive and humiliating.

"I think that's probably enough. The point's been made."

Draco coughed. "To me, or to anyone who might be listening?"

"Both." Snape's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I wondered why you screamed so readily. Normally there's a bit of resistance."

"I didn't want you to have to drag it out." _Of course, you did anyway._

"Disobeying orders, desertion -"

"I was kidnapped."

"Really." Snape moved to sit behind the desk. Draco stayed on the floor. There was nowhere for him to sit, and he was damned if he was going to stand in front of Snape's desk like a kid reporting for detention. "Potter was in rather a mess. Did you do that?"

Draco didn't even blink. He kept his face expressionless and concentrated on Snape's long fingers as they examined Potter's broken glasses. "It was an accident."

"Of course. You never actually _cause_ anything to happen, do you? But somehow you still manage to leave a trail of destruction behind you."

Draco shrugged. The comment was unfair, but had a grain of truth to it. _What can I say? The world's just got it in for me._

"Go ahead - ask the question. You look impatient to do so."

He shrugged again - such a wonderful, all-purpose movement. "I'm not going to accuse you of protecting Potter, if that's what you're thinking. I'm sure you have a good reason for 'not recognising' him."

Snape put his wand tip to the glasses. The wire knitted back together, the glass became whole and sparkling again, and Snape watched it happen with a strange expression on his face. "It's not his time," he said.

Draco prided himself on being able to read a world of information from a mere twitch of an eyebrow or curl of lips. Hell, in the world of aggressive diplomacy he had been raised for, being able to hear what _wasn't _being said as clearly as what _was_ was a very important survival skill. But Snape had him lost. "I don't understand."

"You don't have to." And the expression that accompanied that sentence _was_ readable - amusement. "Do you want to know what happens next? For both you _and _Potter?"

Draco shook his head. "Not really. I don't think I'm going to like it."

* * *

"Are you sure you're all right, love? You don't look well." The voice was kind and motherly. The arm that wrapped around Harry's shoulders was soft and fleshy but gentle. Harry was reminded of Molly Weasley, but he knew she wasn't here. Asking about had revealed that he knew no one amongst the prisoners. The non-combatants, Snape had called them. Secretaries and minor officials and maintenance workers - those who weren't important or likely to put up a serious fight. 

Not that they'd had much chance to fight. Apparently the attack had been sudden and smoothly executed; most of the people here hadn't even been aware that anything was amiss until their wands were being taken from them by stern-faced men in black robes.

Harry rested his forehead against his knees. His head pounded, and he was sure the nausea he felt wasn't entirely down to the situation. He forced himself to think - and it was hard. Threads of thought seemed to slip away from him like snakes.

Simultaneous raids on both Malfoy Manor and the Ministry - that must have taken up most of Voldemort's available manpower, so other raids would be unlikely, at least until the Ministry was secure. The Order of the Phoenix had a new headquarters, location unknown to Snape, and the Burrow was too small and insignificant a target, even if Snape had given Voldemort a list of the Order's members. Arthur Weasley would be on that list, but he would more than likely have been captured during the raid on the Ministry. And Tonks - she might not have been at the Ministry in the first place, but they'd been recalling all the Aurors, hadn't they?

Harry ground his knuckles against his temples in a vain attempt to somehow draw off the pain, to think straight. Most of his friends and allies were probably safe - at least for the time being, at least. But Tonks and Mr Weasley… The worry caused his already churning stomach to twist. Hot vomit surged up into his throat. He forced it back down, furious with himself.

He should be out there _doing _something. _Some fucking Chosen One - hiding amongst the 'non-combatants', half-blind, wandless and chucking up while my friends could be fighting and dying… _Not just his friends, either. Malfoy was being tortured, for a 'desertion' that wasn't even his fault.

A sharp bang from the other side of the room rammed another spike of pain through Harry's skull. The noise level exploded as people all round him leapt to their feet, shouting and gesturing. A cold voice cut easily through the din. "This is a stupidly heroic rescue attempt. I have wands. Don't all mug me at once."

Someone crouched down in front of him and Harry found himself shrinking back at the horrific visage that swam into view. Malfoy took off the mask and grimaced. It wasn't necessarily a better sight. "I don't think this shower will be able to give us much of a diversion, Potter. Couldn't you have been locked up with the Aurors?"

"Damned inconsiderate, those Death Eaters." Harry tried to match Malfoy's nonchalance, but couldn't help the grin that spread across his face.

"They never _think_, do they?" Malfoy agreed. "When choosing a cell for a hero, always put him with the allies that can help him escape - it should be in the manual somewhere." He touched his wand to Harry's nose. "Episkey. Scourgify." The wand trembled against his skin. Harry touched the hand that was holding it.

"You're shaking." Harry's fingers closed around Malfoy's wrist. It wasn't just his hands - his entire body was trembling. Harry's fingertips brushed over fragile bones, felt a pulse throbbing much too fast under paper-thin skin.

"Cruciatus is a nasty curse." Malfoy wrenched his hand free. "And stop _grabbing _me. I know all about your deprived childhood, but if you're looking for cosy human contact, it isn't going to come from me." Harry's glasses were pressed into his palm. "And I _think_ this is your wand - there were quite a few to choose from. Professor Snape's got them all in the office he's using."

It was only the slightest prickle of suspicion, but it made Harry study Malfoy carefully as he put on his glasses and the world came back into reassuringly sharp focus. The skin around Malfoy's eyes was reddened and swollen, and there were tear tracks in the dirt on his face. "How did you escape?"

"I didn't," Malfoy said calmly, as if he could tell what Harry was thinking. "Snape let me go. I had to stun the guards outside his office, but -"

"He let you go?"

"And told me where you were being kept. I don't think he wants you dead, Potter - at least not yet." Malfoy smiled - that cold, cruel smile that was so much like his father's. However, the dark amusement in his eyes was all his. "Are you confused yet? Good - that makes two of us."

They didn't have time for all these questions, but - "Why are you going along with it?" He could have just escaped on his own…

Malfoy shrugged. "What other choices do I have? Now, be a good little hero and get us out of here."

* * *

As he'd thought, a carefully edited truth worked better on Potter than elaborate lies. Also useful if he ended up under Veritaserum in the near future. There wouldn't be any glaring inconsistencies in his story. 

Potter got to his feet - and promptly swayed madly, as if he was about to fall over. Fortunately Draco didn't have to catch him - there were plenty of people here to fawn over him now his identity was clear. _Sycophants_.

Potter and his worshipers weren't Draco's main priority, however. He turned his back on them and fumbled through the pockets of his robes. When he found the vial, he took a small, cautious sip. Just enough to stop the shaking - he needed to keep his wits about him. That was why he hadn't taken any when Snape - seemingly determined to keep up the pretence of being concerned for his welfare even while handing out a 'bargain' that could only be bad for it - had given it to him in the office. Too much and he would have been ready to agree to anything.

"I know post-Cruciatus isn't the best time to be demanding favours," Snape had said. "Post-coitus would be better," Draco had quipped, and in some strange way it was true. His life would be so much easier if their relationship was based on crude, honest desire, rather than being this tangled, confusing web of obligations and convenience and favours.

Fucking _favours_.

_If I get out of this alive, I'm never going to do another favour - for anyone._

Potter took a deep breath and marched over to the door. Draco was sure he was the only one who saw the unsteadiness of his movements.

He almost tripped over the motionless body in the doorway. It was only Reeves, the Death Eater who was supposed to be guarding the room. Draco had stunned him without hesitation, so he was surprised when Potter got down on his knees beside him. "Rennervate."

"What are you doing?" Draco got to Potter's side just as Reeves' eyes flickered open. Potter put his wand to the Deatheater's throat, and Draco was glad that expression wasn't directed at him.

"I've had a _really _bad day and I need you to give me some information."

Potter's interrogation technique needed a little work, but he got a reaction. Reeves' eyes widened as he recognised him; they flicked to Draco and got even wider. He wasn't much older than either of them - one of the Dark Lord's most recent recruits. Draco decided to play along. "Yes, he's the Chosen One and I'm the traitor. He's crazy and I'm - well, you've probably heard what I am. Bet you didn't expect _this _in your first week."

Draco knew Reeves only as a face in the crowd, a face watching as he fought Greyback, a face both horrified and fascinated as it was splattered with blood. Reeves knew _him_ - he could tell from the man's quick gulp. _Snape was right about that duel improving my reputation. _"I've had a bad day, too."

Reeves looked at Potter, probably deciding he was the nicer one. "What do you want to know?" His wand was on the floor beside him, just within reach…

He went for it. Draco put his foot over both hand and wand and stamped. The crunch was fairly satisfying, as was the way Reeves screamed and cursed Draco's parents in language a nice, well-brought-up Pureblood certainly shouldn't know.

"That's not very nice." As he moved his foot he saw that the wand had broken; splinters of wood were sticking out of Reeves' crumpled up hand. "Ouch. I bet that hurts."

"_Bastard!"_

"I'm not actually. I can prove it. How about you?" Draco crouched down, and met Reeves' glare with a smile that he knew must look evil, but he couldn't help himself. "Bet you're a Mudblood, really - grovelling to the Dark Lord in the hope it'll save your miserable neck."

"I can trace my family back…eight…generations…"

"Congratulations. Mine goes back through sixty and it hasn't saved me."

Potter had been staring at Reeves' broken hand. He blinked. "The Aurors that were recalled - what's happened to them?"

Reeves smirked. "Dead." Potter flinched. Reeves' smirk turned into a grin.

Draco watched with fascination as Potter's face changed, his expression hardening and his eyes narrowing. _Oh - you're going to regret that! _He sat back on his heels and waited for the entertainment.

To Draco's disappointment, Potter held on to his temper. "Were any other prisoners taken, apart from the people here?"

Reeves' grin got even wider. "The bigwigs - they were sent back to Headquarters." Potter stood up. Draco recognised the expression on his face - it was amusing not to be the cause of it for a change. "You might as well just get back in that room and wait for your fate. This is only the beginning. Mudbloods and half-breeds and Muggle-lovers - you'll all get what's coming to you when the Dark Lord -"

Draco found himself blown back, away from Reeves. Being that close to so many hexes at close range dazzled his eyes and made his skin tingle from the sheer power.

Potter hadn't been responsible for all of them, he realised as his vision cleared, even if he had cast the first one. Four of the prisoners stood around them, wands still pointed. The others stood crowded behind them, wands ready. A low moan came from the mass of tentacles and lumps that had been Reeves, proving the man himself was still alive somewhere in there.

'_Non-combatants' - hah! If you can hold a wand there's no such thing._

Draco felt proud to be a wizard - until he realised how many of those wands were pointing at _him_.

"My Mark is fucking showing, isn't it?"

Potter nodded. Then he smiled and held out his hand.

Draco looked at it. Really, with all the manual work Potter was supposed to have done in the service of those Muggles, he should have had peasant's hands. But his outstretched hand didn't look much different from Draco's own. Tanned, with what looked like knife scars on the back - but as that hand closed around his, he discovered that Potter's fingers were as long as his, and their broomstick calluses matched up almost exactly. Similar flying styles, Draco told himself.

Potter might have had all the political skill of a frog, but he certainly knew the value of a good gesture. As he pulled Draco to his feet, there was movement in the crowd around him, and out of the corner of his eye he saw wand-points dropping.

"You're on our side - they know that really."

_Yeah? Wish I did._

Draco looked down at their clasped hands. Potter didn't make any move to let go. In fact, his fingers tightened, and as their palms slid together Draco noticed that, yes, those calluses did match up exactly, and Potter's scars were rough against his fingertips, and -

"Can I have my hand back?" The words came out more rushed and panicked than he liked. "I am going to need it." Potter got the message; he dropped Draco's hand as if it was suddenly rotten. Then he turned to speak to his new minions.

"Right! Let's figure out how we're going to get out of here. Any ideas?"

_And he's doing it wrong - you don't ask minions what to do, you tell them what needs doing._ "Is there any way out of this place that doesn't take us through the Atrium?"

One of the hexers spoke up. "The fireplace in the Minister's office is connected to the Network." A man with fluffy white hair and a disturbingly youthful face, he touched his forehead as Potter looked at him. "Jim Rankin. Magical Maintenance. Pleased to finally meet you."

_Right - partially kill a Dark Lord as a baby and everyone treats you like Lord of the Manor. Potter didn't even manage to complete the job!_

Potter looked uncomfortable under the pressure of all that deference, though. Draco didn't know if that was a point in his favour or not. _Me, I'd be lapping it up. And I always thought Potter did - he's full of surprises, isn't he?_

A stabbing pain in his arm drew Draco's attention back to his Dark Mark. Even before he pushed back his sleeve he knew what it was. It felt like a burning brand being pressed into his skin - in his mind's eye he could see the flesh blistering, turning to charcoal… What he saw as the fabric slid away from his skin was almost worse.

The details of the Mark were disappearing as that charcoal blackness bled through it. The feeling that went with it - the _call_ - spread through his veins. "This isn't good," he managed, stating the bloody obvious.

But no one was paying any attention to him. He looked up and saw why.

A snitch was hovering in the corridor, fluttering its tiny wings. But those wings were made of fleshy membrane, covered in tiny veins, and between them was suspended, not a golden ball, but an eyeball, lidless and staring.

_What a ridiculous-looking thing._ Draco wondered how you'd go about making something like that - did some poor idiot have to lose their eye?

It focused on him. He stared back, fascinated.

Potter flicked his wand and the whole outrageous thing disintegrated into blood and gunk.

"And _that _isn't good, either," he said.


	8. Chapter 4c

**_4c_**

The corridor was a scene lifted from Hieronymus Bosch. The posters on the walls were on fire and the glow from their flickering flames mixed with the multicoloured flashes of spells hurtling back and forth in the confined space. The escaping prisoners weren't as free with the Killing Curse as their attackers, or even what Draco considered 'fighting' spells, but even the least combat-trained wizard knew spells to incapacitate. The green flashes of Avada Kedavra, bodies dropping lifelessly to the ground, were met by jinxes dimly-remembered from faraway school-days. Someone was terrifyingly good at Transfiguration - black-clad forms flickered, twisted, and changed before his eyes. 

Draco felt like he stood outside it all. He didn't need to think to block and deflect spells - his reflexes, the product of long and harsh training, seemed to take over his body. He was a dreamer, wandering through a nightmare, taking in every detail.

"In here! Move!"

A curse rebounded off Potter's shield spell and narrowly missed Draco. He saw Rankin gesturing madly from a narrow door in the wall, looking like a grimacing imp amongst the flames. With one hand in a death-grip on Potter's shirt, he dived for the door - and stunned the Death Eater who tried to follow them in.

Rankin slammed the door and hexed it shut, but it didn't shut out the battle. The sounds of it seemed to follow them in, chasing them up the narrow passageway. 

Potter tore free of Draco's grip and tried to punch him. Fortunately his aim seemed to be a bit off; his fist only caught the air in front of Draco's nose. Draco backed away from him, wand ready. 

"We can't just _leave _them!" The walls of the passageway were covered in carefully-drawn sigils and runes, humming with power, and the light they emitted turned Potter's furious face into a jigsaw of light and shadow. "People are _dying_. We can't just -"

"Run away?" Draco ground his teeth together. He should have been expecting something like this; he should have known Potter's priorities would be skewed. Stupid, reckless, soft, naïve Gryffindor with his stupid, romantic _ideals_. "I thought that was the whole fucking idea? To get out of here. _In one piece_."

"Those _people _are my friends and colleagues." Rankin's voice was soft and sad. "But they understood what you don't seem to. One person's life shouldn't be worth more than another's, but in this case it is. If I die, my family and friends will, I hope, mourn me, but the world will go on. If _you _die, I'm not sure it would."

"That's bullshit!"

"You're not just a person, you're _hope_ - to so many people. Oh, I'm sure there'll be resistance to -" Rankin shuddered "- _Him_, even without you, but -"

"You're the figurehead, Potter," Draco said. "Just accept it gracefully and we can be on our way."

* * *

Harry felt his clenched fists relaxing, almost against his will. Oh, he understood Rankin's logic - and Malfoy's, damn him - but that didn't mean they were _right_. 

_Whatever happened to 'no one else is going to die for me'?_

"Even if I do kill Voldemort, it's not going to bring them back."

"Obviously." Malfoy's voice was thick with contempt. "I'm not qualified to talk about self-sacrifice, but I would have thought _you _of all people would get what it is."

Harry's temper flared. If that was a dig, it was unforgivable. "Shut your mouth."

"What am I supposed to have said _now_? Grow up, Potter. Or go back out there and get yourself killed. At least we wouldn't have to put up with your whining."

Harry's retort was drowned out by an explosion of sound. The floor beneath him shook and the wall beside him bulged inward as if a huge fist had smashed into it from the other side. He looked at Rankin. His expression said it all. _We haven't got time for this._ Harry agreed, but - 

"I hate you," he said to Malfoy as they followed Rankin along the dark corridor.

Malfoy grinned, the expression turned into something diabolical by the strange lighting. "I hate you too."

Rankin led them to a rickety steel staircase that spiralled into darkness above and below. More symbols flickered into life on the walls. Harry noticed one that flashed on and off like a broken light bulb.

"What is this place?"

"Maintenance corridors."

_Yes - and that tells me so much. _"And the symbols?" 

"The Ministry runs on magic - years and years worth of spells cast, rituals performed, just to make the building operate properly. And if you mess with one without thinking about how it might affect the others -" Rankin grinned. "Well, let's just say it can get messy. All these sigils are like a map of the spells we maintain - shows us if they're working correctly, if the connections are intact… We don't actually _need _them, but they make our job a hell of a lot easier. And they save on leg work. Example -" He tapped three of the symbols in turn, muttering under his breath. They slowly went black. "Those spells are nothing much individually, but interfere with them -" He smiled, and his eyes glinted with satisfaction. "Let's just say the lifts won't be working exactly as they should."

Malfoy peered over Harry's shoulder. "You could cause chaos from in here," he said wistfully. 

Rankin sighed. "Yes - I can."

Something in his voice made Harry flinch. He gave the man a hard look.

Malfoy wasn't quite so restrained. "This self-sacrifice thing is catching, isn't it?" he drawled. "Well, if you really must -"

"I'll get you to the Minister's office first, of course. And then - would a little darkness be of use?"

* * *

'A little darkness' Rankin had promised, and that was exactly what they got. Not total darkness - there was enough light to see the various backdrops in the paintings lined along one wall, even if the actual subjects of those paintings were nowhere to be seen. Mere paint and canvas they might be, but the portraits obviously knew which way the wind was blowing, and wanted no part of it. 

The corridor they were in was less institutional in style than the rest of the Ministry. A thick carpet lined the floor, and a row of large magical windows filled the wall opposite the portraits. Each window showed the same thing, a dark stormy night, rain lashing against the glass. Harry suspected that was Rankin's doing as well.

He remembered the last time he'd been here, just a couple of days before. Images flicked through his head, all bathed in golden sunlight - Arthur Weasley's quiet support, the little witch chasing the scrolls, Ron and Hermione's bickering… _I hope they're all right…_

A sharp twinge of pain slid up his neck. The pain in his head had subsided to a dull ache, but now it burst back into full throbbing life.

"You're not dying on me, are you, Potter?" Malfoy could sneer even in a whisper.

_No - I just can't decide whether to pass out or throw up. _Harry steadied himself and glared. "I'm _fine_."

"You're a liar." But Malfoy didn't have enough concern for Harry's health to actually come over and check on him. "I was here before. This is the office Snape was using."

"And you didn't think to tell me?" Harry managed to turn his shout into a hiss.

Malfoy shrugged. "Snape won't be here. He'll have gone to the Dark Lord. He did call us all to him."

"What?"

"I tried to tell you, but you were too busy blasting apart that spying eyeball."

Malfoy moved over to the office door and, with a barely audible gulp of breath, tapped his wand against the doorknob. The door opened without a sound.

The anteroom where the Minister's personal secretary normally worked was as dark and quiet as the corridor beyond. However, cold unnatural light leaked from beneath the door to the Minister's inner sanctum. Harry couldn't hear any voices, but the door might well have an Imperturbable Charm on it - he couldn't imagine either of the Ministers he'd met wanting their secretaries to be able to overhear everything said in that room.

_Maybe Snape _is _here. But that shouldn't matter. If he really sent Malfoy to help me, then he won't turn on us now - will he? _Harry's head hurt more than ever. He leaned on the desk for support.

The doorknob turned - the door began to swing open. Malfoy caught hold of his arm and he found himself dragged behind the desk. Fortunately it was big and old - there was just enough room beneath it for them to both squeeze under, and the decency panel that protected the secretary's legs from the Minister's gaze worked just as well to hide the two boys. Even if it was very cramped and uncomfortable.

"I was told the Ministry was secure."

Every thought of comfort fled from Harry's mind. Because he knew that voice. It was burned into his memory from both his nightmares and that handful of equally dreadful real-life encounters. Malfoy knew it too - he went from trying to wriggle further under the desk to frozen like a statue.

"It is. The escape attempt was merely a group of low-end workers." Snape's voice was silky and reassuring. "They've been dealt with. The current 'inconveniences' seem to be the work of one man. I have teams out looking for him. He can't hide for long." 

"And Potter?" Harry's name was spat out like cobra venom. Malfoy flinched; his breath quickened against Harry's neck.

_Yes - you'll be in some real trouble if you're caught helping me escape._

Malfoy's obvious fear contrasted painfully with Harry's lack of it. He knew he _should_ be scared - Voldemort was a monster - but the fear just didn't seem to be there. If this was his time to face him, then so be it. At least no one else would die for him. 

That thought coincided with a fresh wave of pain and dizziness. Harry tried to focus on something else - the solidity of the wood against his back, the warm and strength of the limbs tangled with his, the irritating tickle of hair against his face, the scent of that hair - no flowery fantasy fragrance, but sweat and earth and smoke - and of course, the smooth curve of neck just inches from his mouth.

"There is no way Harry Potter can possibly be here. It has to be a trick." Snape sounded completely confident. The man really was an excellent liar. "In fact, the information I've received is that he was supposed to be at Malfoy Manor yesterday, inspecting the facilities."

The pain was still there, but the dizziness was gone. Harry had to move the focus of his attention from Malfoy's neck to his face as the other boy twisted his body, finally managing to get his feet under the desk. His eyes were still wide and panicked, but, being Malfoy, he couldn't resist a twisted smile at 'inspecting the facilities'.

"Then why didn't Bellatrix take him?"

"You'll have to ask her that."

"I _will_."

Harry heard the soft _clunk _of the outer door shutting. The conversation continued, but muffled. 

"Right. Fire. _Now_." Harry's limbs felt like they were made out of jelly. He was no help at all as Malfoy struggled out from beneath the desk. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Blackness crept across his vision; he felt strong fingers dragging at his unresponsive body. "_Move_."

He managed to blink away the darkness, and with Malfoy's help, got to his feet. The other boy half-carried, half-dragged him into the Minister's office. The least Harry could do was stand - well, lean against the desk - on his own while Malfoy retrieved an ornate pot of Floo powder from the mantelpiece and threw a large handful into the fire.

"Back to the flat, right?"

Harry was in the flames, mumbling "Charing Cross Road," when he saw the door open. He called out a warning, but he was much too late. 

Snape made a slashing movement with his wand. The last thing Harry saw before he was whisked away into the Floo Network was the startled look on Draco Malfoy's face as he fell forward, into the flames.

* * *

Jimmy Fraser was having a bad night. The little brats in the flat downstairs were having a party. One hell of a party, by the sound of it; dawn was breaking, soft golden light outlining the chimney pots of the buildings opposite, and the music and laughter and occasional screaming were still going strong.

When he'd heard the bang on his ceiling, followed by another, his tired brain just chalked it up to more of the brats' antics. Sure, it was from the flat above, but they could have broken in there - from what he could tell, the owners weren't often there. In fact, though Jimmy had kept a careful look-out, and while he sometimes heard voices and footsteps from the flat above, he had never seen them. Obviously not neighbourly types - _not many people are these days. _

The explosion was a little bit harder to ignore. The entire building seemed to shake, and bits of plaster floated down from the ceiling. Jimmy brushed flakes of it out of his thin brown hair and glared at the ceiling.

"Enough is enough." If the kids _had _broken into the flat upstairs…

He chose a golf club from his vast selection, adjusted his dressing gown, and marched out of the door.

The stairwell was thick with acrid smoke. A couple of drunken kids peered at him wide-eyed from the landing below. Apparently the explosion had been loud enough to penetrate even their alcohol-numbed brains. 

"Hey, man, what _was _that?" 

Jimmy looked at the decidedly uninspiring specimen of future-manhood in front of him and sniffed. Ant Brearey - leader of the Brats Downstairs. Ant - what a name! Why he had to call himself that, when Anthony was such a good, respectable name, Jimmy didn't know.

"It wasn't some prank of yours, then?"

Ant's face hardened. He actually managed to look quite tough and capable. "No. It wasn't." He pushed past Jimmy and bounded up the stairs. Jimmy heard the crack of breaking wood as he kicked at the door.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Ant wasn't listening. The door gave way and he pushed inside. Jimmy followed him in, a bit more cautiously, eyes watering from the smoke. And that was something else - the smoke smelled funny…_wrong_…

It must have been the fireplace that had exploded - fragments of what had once been an fancy stone mantelpiece crunched beneath his feet as he made his way into the living room.

Then he saw the bodies on the floor.

Two boys - no older than Ant. Jimmy threw his neighbour a suspicious look, but Ant looked shocked and horrified. He crouched down beside them, checking for life. Some hope of that, Jimmy thought. Even from where he stood by the door, he could see the blood staining the carpet beneath the blond boy, the one in the Halloween costume.

His shaking hands dialled 999. The operator on the other end of the phone sounded much too chirpy for that time in the morning. "Which emergency service do you require?"

"Ambulance. Maybe the police and fire brigade as well. I - there's been an explosion, but I can't smell gas or anything."

"Please give me your address, sir."

As he fumbled through the address, inadvertently giving the wrong flat number at first, Jimmy watched Ant. He rolled the dark-haired boy onto his back, something Jimmy was sure, from the mostly-forgotten First Aid course he'd done, you shouldn't do. Then he whistled through his teeth and muttered something. A name?

"Harry Potter…"


	9. Chapter 5a

A/N - And another quickie...

* * *

_**5a.**_

…_bleep…bleep…bleep…bleep…_

"_Could it have been done by a sword?"_

"_If it was, I'd like to see it. Look at this - the cut's completely straight, exactly the same depth all along…I've seen the odd sword wound come through A&E - and plenty of blade wounds - and none of them have looked like this. All of them had some tearing. This is so _perfect_ - more like a scalpel…used by a very experienced surgeon…"_

Draco idly listened to the strange sounds and even stranger voices as he drifted somewhere comfortably far from full consciousness. _That sounds painful - I'm glad that's not me. _The pain in his back, so complete and acute that it made up almost the entirety of his last memory - pain, gasping out "Charing Cross Road", Potter trying to catch him as he fell out of the fire, more pain - was gone. In fact, his back felt almost completely numb - he could feel nothing but these strange little tugs on his skin… He drifted on, shutting out the voices…

"_What's going on with the transfusion? You did send the sample down, didn't you?"_

"_I think there's been some problem identifying his blood group. The sample seems to have been contaminated."_

"_Well - take another one then." _A pause. Draco didn't want to listen to them - he wanted them to just go away, so he could get back to floating in peace. _"What do you mean - contaminated?"_

His limbs were heavy, his back throbbed with pain, and he was no longer able to drift away. There was something warm and unnatural-smelling enclosing his nose and mouth, digging uncomfortably into the skin around it - the air he breathed in through it was cold and pure. His eyes seemed glued shut, but the feel of something sharp jabbing into his arm made him put in the effort to force them open.

Draco looked at the men in their strange pastel clothes, in the cold pastel room. He looked at the strange bleeping devices surrounding him. He looked at his red and bruised hand, felt the _something _inserted beneath its skin, looked at the tube attached to it, at the bag of clear liquid attached to _that_. One of the men was leaning over him, pressing some kind of tool against his skin - _into _his skin, because it had been that that he'd felt prick him - and he looked at the blood being sucked out into the tool…_his _blood, startlingly dark and red in the sterile room. The panic welled up inside him slowly, fighting against the numbing power of the horror that had got there first.

"Oh, it's ridiculous, but Carla said the blood I sent wasn't even human! Can you believe it? How the hell it was contaminated that badly I can't say."

The panic exploded through Draco's body much as the pain had earlier. There was no room for anything else, not even the knowledge that his abused back was protesting madly as he lunged at the man, slapping the tool away from him. He tore the mask from his mouth; the air in the room was foul, a mixture of blood and disease and the overpowering chemical whiff of a potions experiment gone wrong.

"What the hell are you _doing _to me?" If his sense of smell seemed to have become abnormally sharp, then so had his other senses; Draco saw the beads of sweat on the man's forehead, heard his frantically beating heart…the soft humming and whirring of the contraptions around him sounded more like a hundred dragons beating their wings. A hundred and _one_ dragons, he corrected himself, as the man lunged for a switch and the machines made a new noise.

Exhaustion and pain-hiding numbness trickled down his limbs. Poppy-based potion? He only had time to glare suspiciously at the tube in his arm before he collapsed back against the bed, body helpless, mind clouding over. The man gently replaced the breathing-mask over his face.

"He was _supposed _to be under sedation."

"He _was. _I don't get it. He's such a skinny little thing, and that dose would have knocked out a sumo wrestler…"

_Where am I? What the _fuck_ are they doing to me…? _Both big, important questions, but not enough to anchor his mind - not when it just wanted to…

drift…

away…

* * *

Harry wanted to stay asleep, but he couldn't. He kept his eyes shut, but the fine skin of his eyelids were no defence against the bright sunlight that wanted to wake him up, and his bedroom was very noisy for some reason. He put the pillow over his head, but while that blocked out most of the light, it only muffled the sounds - people talking, people moving about, the rumble of traffic.

_You're awake. Deal with it, Potter. _Harry wondered how long the voice of his subconscious had sounded like Draco Malfoy. Not that it mattered, because it was right. He cautiously looked out from beneath the pillow.

The brightly-coloured curtains drawn around his bed told him he was in a hospital ward. The general décor and half-open window letting in the smells and sounds of central London told him that hospital wasn't St Mungo's.

A Muggle hospital, then. He wasn't hooked up to any machines, and the only pain he had was a dull ache in his head. So he wasn't seriously injured. How he'd got there was, however, a complete mystery. The last thing he remembered was standing baking in the heat, out in the grounds of Malfoy Manor, watching the trainee Aurors tackle the assault course.

The pyjamas he was wearing were definitely not his, Harry decided as he slid his legs out of bed. The last time he'd worn this many Union Jacks on his clothing was that mortifying time at primary school when the teachers had gone all patriotic over Andrew and Fergie's wedding. In theory, it should have been a good day - getting to watch TV in school and everyone wearing fancy dress. Unfortunately, Petunia Dursley was very much in favour of the Royal Family, and got rather too much into the spirit of the thing - both Harry and Dudley had gone to school looking like they'd been attacked by a psychotic flag-seller. Those pyjamas would have brought a proud tear to her eye.

He went around to the end of the bed and took a look at the clipboard. The handwriting on it was even more unreadable than Ron's, but Harry's eyes were drawn to the name at the top. _David Brearey? Who's David Brearey? _

He was just pondering that when his ears picked up a new sound. Waves? The sea? That was impossible, but the sound was almost as strong as the traffic noises coming through the window. The morning was so hot there was a heat-haze hanging over the street below and the fans in the ceiling were going full-tilt, but an icy gust of wind ruffled the horrible pyjamas and raised goosebumps on Harry's skin. The wind carried with it the scent of salt-water and seaweed…

There was obviously more wrong with him than he'd thought, if he was smelling and hearing the ocean in the middle of London. But as his eyes moved over the curtained off cubicle, they fell on the bedside cabinet, and the box sitting on it.

The box was familiar, even if Harry couldn't remember where he'd seen it before. He knew that the leather straps now hanging from it, cut and useless, had once held it shut, and he felt very strongly that it should _be _shut, not propped open as it was now.

He went to shut it, but as he moved closer, he heard other sounds coming from it - angry voices, almost lost in the wailing wind and crashing surf. "-your fault, you stupid girl!"

"We did nothing wrong - we were in love!"

"You would destroy your entire family for _love_?"

There were things in the bottom of the box - what looked like broken bits of exquisitely carved ivory. Harry reached out -

There was a quiet cough behind him. "Um, I don't think that's wise."

Harry spun around. He saw a head poked around the curtain - messy brown hair and dark eyes that stared at Harry with open curiosity. Hands pulled back the curtain, and Harry saw the body it belonged to. His visitor was a tall, strongly built young man who reminded Harry of Oliver Wood - especially when his face broke into a wide, confident grin. "After all, it's probably loaded with Dark magic, and you don't know how it got here. Also, when I saw it last, the straps were still intact. You didn't cut them, did you?" He held out a hand. "Ant Brearey."

As he shook his visitor's hand, Harry glanced toward the clipboard. Ant's grin got even wider. "I told the ambulance guys you were my brother. Thought it'd make it easier for me to get in to see you." He pulled out a squashed bag from one of the pockets of his over-sized leather jacket. "Grapes, bro?"

"I -" Harry snapped the box shut, cutting off the sounds and the smells. The runes carved into its blackened surface seemed to squirm beneath his gaze. "Um, thanks." And he didn't mean for the grapes.

Whatever the box was, whatever it contained, it positively reeked of the Dark Arts. He'd let Lupin have a look at it before he did anything so stupid as putting his hand in it.

"If you're not my brother, how do you know me? Because I don't know you."

"Oh, you wouldn't. I never got to Hogwarts. I know _you_ by reputation, Harry Potter." Ant fished around in his coat again. "And I've got a better present for you than grapes."

It _was_ a better present. Harry took his wand from Ant's outstretched hand and smiled at him for the first time. "Are you a wizard?"

Ant coloured. "I'm a Squib." He raised his chin and looked down on Harry from his greater height, as if daring him to make something of it. "My parents had me adopted by a Muggle couple when they realised, but I try to keep in touch with my roots. The Ministry of Magic actually pay me to look after the safe house -"

_Safe house… _Those two words were like a key, opening a door in Harry's brain. One by one memories shuffled out and were inspected. Harry looked at his wand. He remembered Malfoy falling out of the fire, barely conscious; how he'd caught him in his arms, but his fingers had slipped in the blood flowing from Malfoy's wounds, and Harry's own legs had gone from beneath him; how he'd destroyed apart the fireplace to stop anyone following them from the Ministry. And he remembered the Ministry, too. At first the memories were fragments, but then the trickle of information turned into a flood, and Harry remembered _everything_. Putting it all together was a bit harder - for example, why did he remember having Malfoy on his back in the grass..?

"- there's been some hair-raising times, but I never expected anything like this -" Ant came to a shaky halt as Harry sank down onto the bed, head in his hands. "Hey - are you all right?"

"There was someone else with me, in the flat. Another wizard."

"The Death Eater? They brought him here too, but you don't have to worry about that scumbag. He can't hurt anyone - I took his wand. Don't think he'll bother you again, anyway - he was in a hell of a mess." Harry looked up; Ant was grinning. "Did _you _do that? Because it was jolly fine wo- _uff_!"

Harry's anger drove him to his feet and gave him the strength to slam the much bigger boy up against the wall. Ant nearly turned himself cross-eyed staring down at the wand pressed up against his chest.

"That _Death Eater_ is on our side. That Death Eater saved my life - _twice_. He got injured rescuing me from Voldemort." Ant flinched. "Your cushy deal with the Ministry is over, by the way - _Voldemort_'s taken over." Ant twitched again. "I don't think he'll want to make deals with Squibs, do you?"

"You need to calm down, Harry. The doctor said you have concussion. Which means rest and sleep and no over-exerting yourself -"

"I will over-exert myself if you don't start helping me! Where _is_ he?"

"Intensive care, I think. Look - I'm sorry - I just saw the Dark Mark and - I didn't realise he was your friend."

_Friend? _Harry instinctively rejected the word. Whatever he and Malfoy were, they were certainly not _friends_. Reluctant allies, maybe.

Then he thought about Malfoy, the archetypal sheltered Pureblood, waking up wandless and alone, under the tender ministrations of Muggle medicine. Malfoy would think he was in hell. And the thought of _that _made Harry's temper rise and his stomach twist into knots.

_Ally or friend - he'd better be fucking ok._

* * *

Draco's most recent attempts to swim toward consciousness had been extremely unpleasant. Whatever the Muggles were using to keep him quiet and pliable, it had a very strong hold on him.

Perhaps it simply wasn't worth it. He could just stay in this dark, warm place, not asleep, but not really awake either, keeping the pain at bay and pretend to himself that it wasn't real. That none of it was real. Eventually he would wake up on the cushions in Snape's quarters, ready to face another day of scheming and lying and trying to avoid getting killed or disowned or worse.

Only that worse had already happened, hadn't it? He was a wanted man, a traitor to the Death Eaters, forced to throw his lot in with Potter, whose lot weren't going to exactly welcome him with open arms. Snape had promised that he would 'explain' everything to the Dark Lord, and keep his family from suffering for Draco's actions, but Snape had done this to him, hadn't he? Only three people knew Sectumsempra, as far as he knew - Potter hadn't cast it on him, Draco certainly hadn't done it to himself, so that left Snape. _And Snape never does anything without a good reason._

So what good reason could he have to slice Draco open? Especially with only one of the tasks Snape had set him accomplished…or was he giving the man too much credit? Could he really have been betrayed? _Cast aside as no longer useful?_

_Looks like Potter's abandoned me, too…_

And now he was in the power of Muggles, being tortured or experimented on. Oh, the worst had definitely happened, and Draco was definitely awake. He couldn't pretend any longer.

If he remained there, the bleeping of the Muggle devices would only drive him insane.

He reached up to his face and pulled off the mask. The air in the room didn't smell as bad as it had on his previous awakening. A stab of pain in his hand reminded him of the tube that attached him to the machines. He tore off the sticky fabric on his hand with weak, clumsy fingers, and pulled on the tube.

What had been causing the pain in his hand was a needle as long as his finger. Draco stared at it in horror. Muggles really were barbarians - and sadists, to boot. Who could possibly believe that the best way to deal with an injured person was to stick needles in them and attach them to infernal devices?

A slow, sickened feeling crept over him. If this was how they kept people asleep - how would they deal with wounds?

Draco forced himself to sit up. The room span around him with nausea-inducing speed, but his fingers were already groping inside the strange robe he was wearing. _Opens at the back - convenient, that… _He encountered more of the weird sticky fabric, which tugged at his skin painfully as his trembling fingers pulled it back, slid inside…

He felt sore ridges of flesh. From the feel of it, they hadn't even closed the wound, just pulled the two edges together and - he felt something else, something that was prickly and -

_Thread?! Fucking _thread_? They've _sewn up _the wound?_ Stitched _me up?_

Draco couldn't help it - he laughed. He laughed until tears stung his eyes and he was gasping for air, but he couldn't stop. _Well - I've been stitched up in so many different ways these past few days, I suppose this is appropriate. _Then the tears streaming down his cheeks were no longer anything to do with the laughter - he put his hands to his face and cried out of frustration, anger, pain, and sheer outright horror.

_What am I going to do…? What the fuck do I do _now…?


	10. Chapter 5b

A/N - it's a been a while since I posted, but here's a quick update. More up soon! X

* * *

_****_

5b

It took a shamefully long time to pull himself together. Terrified, mutilated and wandless he might be, but he didn't have time for self-pity. The Muggles would be back, to inflict more horrors on him - he refused to sit there quietly and wait for them.

When he'd pulled himself free of the machines, the steady _bleep bleep bleep _had turned into a continuous, high-pitched squeal that had the same effect on Draco as fingernails scraped over a blackboard. He twisted knobs and flicked switches, trying to shut off the noise.

"What _do_ you think you're doing?"

The voice was female, and somehow managed to mix kindness with indignation. As he turned around, he saw it belonged to a blonde woman in a white coat. She crossed her arms and gave Draco the kind of patronising smile he associated with nannies and healers. "While I'm glad to see you conscious and apparently feeling so well, you shouldn't be out of bed." _I know best, so stop being such a naughty boy_. "And you certainly shouldn't be playing with the ECG."

Draco presumed 'the ECG' was the machine; its noise was really starting to get on his nerves now. More than that - it felt like the noise was somehow getting inside him, merging with his panic. The woman didn't look very dangerous, but -

He groped around on the bed behind him, found the long needle. "What are you going to do to me?"

The woman raised a eyebrow. "My name's Alison Tyler," she said. "I'm an infectiologist, and I don't intend to do anything to you - except maybe help you."

"If sewing up my flesh is your idea of 'help', I don't think I want any more of it." Draco pulled the needle away from its tube - it wasn't much of a weapon, but it would have to do.

_Damn woman - why is she blocking the bloody door?_

That smile again. "You may not have a choice. Analysis of your blood has delivered some very interesting results."

He didn't know what the hell an 'analysis' of his blood entailed, but the idea of these Muggles having a part of him like that made him feel sick.

It was one of the first things drummed into children by their parents, right up there with 'don't go off with strangers'. _Don't let anyone take a part of you, whether it's hair, skin or bodily fluids. _And of all those 'parts' that could be stolen and put to use against someone in a spell or potion, blood was the most potent.

She stepped forward. "Get back into bed, Mr - I suppose you do have a name? What is it?"

Names were potent, too. Draco backed away from her, gripping the needle as if it was a magical sword. He shook his head.

"Look - all we're trying to do is _help _you!" She sounded frustrated.

She stepped forward again, and Draco told himself it was just a trick of the light, that stepping into the bright beams of sunlight coming through the window had just made highlights and shadows on her face where there were none before. Her face hadn't really changed, hadn't really become thinner, harder…_familiar_…

"I want to help you." Her voice had changed too.

The pain in Draco's back, the weakness of his legs - none of it mattered anymore. He didn't even pause to wonder how the woman from his nightmares could have stepped out into the real world. He dodged her outstretched hand and _ran_.

* * *

"So, what are you saying? We've _lost_?"

Harry was rapidly getting sick of Ant. Not only did he insist on sauntering along, as if he hadn't a care in the world, when Harry really wanted to run, but he kept asking stupid questions.

"We haven't lost. Not yet."

"But things are bad?"

"Voldemort has the Ministry. Yes, I think that's bad."

A nurse gave them a sharp look. Harry tried his best to look innocent. _Just going for a little stroll with my visitor. _

_A stroll down to Intensive Care…_

"That's not just bad." Ant said as they stepped into the lift. "It sounds like it's all over."

"There are lots of people who'll keep fighting."

"Like you."

Harry shook his head, and was relieved to find the movement no longer left him shaking and nauseous. "Not really. I mean, I will keep fighting - I just don't have a choice about it. Other people do."

Ant looked at him. He had the black box cradled under one arm, and his knuckles were white where he gripped it. Harry felt suddenly sorry for him. Ant lived his life as a Muggle, but he didn't have a Muggle's blissful ignorance. He knew about Voldemort, what he and his followers were capable of. He knew what would likely happen when the Death Eaters tightened their grip on the Wizarding World, and their leader was free to look towards the Muggles. But Ant had no magic, no way to defend himself or the people he cared about. _He must be terrified._

"Voldemort won't win," Harry said. "I promise."

Ant looked at him as if he was a hero; Harry wished he hadn't said anything.

The lift doors opened. As they stepped out into the corridor, a nurse pushed past him, followed by a big man in a security guard's uniform. They'd come out of the corridor's one open door. And from that door came the sound of a heart monitor. Someone was flat-lining.

Harry told himself that there was nothing to suggest that Malfoy was in there. But the continuous wail of the heart monitor was a chilling sound, and it drew him over to that door. His mind painted pictures to go with that noise - Malfoy dead, or being worked on by a resuscitation team. He didn't want to look, but couldn't help himself.

No Malfoy. But no other unlucky patient either - the bed was empty. Someone had obviously been in it, though - the sheets were thrown back and a saline drip, which had apparently been attached to someone until very recently, dribbled liquid onto the mattress.

By the window, two doctors were having a low-voiced but heated discussion. One of them looked up. Harry quickly pulled his head back, but she was already running to the door.

"I just wanted to see my friend," he said. "I got told he was down here."

"Blond kid?" she asked. Something about the intensity of her expression made alarms ring inside Harry's head, but he nodded. "He's run off. We've got people looking for him, but if you've any idea where he might be headed, you have to tell us. It's very important we find him as quickly as possible."

"I don't know where he might go." And that was the truth. "He's not from around here." So was that.

Her eyes glinted. "Where _is _he from?"

Harry stared at her. "Um, Egypt?" She frowned, and Harry decided it was time to feel ill again.

He sagged against the wall, feigning faintness, and Ant was suddenly at his side, completely the attentive brother. "I knew this was a bad idea. We should get you back to your own ward, bro."

"Wait a minute -"

"If you want to question David any further, it'll have to wait until later," Ant said firmly, steering Harry away from the doctor. "Can't you see he's tired?"

* * *

The burst of energy, powered by fear, had passed. Draco hid in a cupboard full of the pastel-coloured garments, which rustled like paper as he collapsed amongst them, and tried to decide on his next move.

His lack of a wand was his biggest concern. Until he'd solved that problem, all the others, like where to go and who he could trust, weren't even worth pondering.

Why couldn't Potter have dumped him at St Mungo's? While that might have been as good as handing him back to the Dark Lord, at least he'd be amongst his own kind - and being treated by healers with a more civilised idea of medicine.

He didn't really blame Potter for leaving him. Given the same circumstances, Draco would probably have done the same thing - when you were running for your life, a badly-injured companion could only be a hindrance. _If I hadn't been under _very _strict instructions from Snape, I would have left him in the Ministry, rather than dragging him -_

_Oh. Right._

Considering the state Potter had been in when they had escaped the Ministry, Draco would hardly have slowed him down that much. In fact - Draco shrunk back amongst the robes as he heard footsteps stop outside his refuge - Potter was very likely somewhere in the same building.

Not that that meant Draco was going to go looking for him. _I might be going mad, seeing my ancestors in the faces of random Muggles, but I'm not _that _mad. Not yet, at least._

_I have to get out of this place -_

The cupboard door opened. Draco stared up at the person in the doorway. He was with some Muggle, and he was wearing the most hideous pair of pyjamas Draco had ever seen in his life, but in that moment, Harry Potter looked glorious.

* * *

For a moment, Harry stared at the boy sitting amongst the scrubs and didn't recognise him. His eyes took in the hospital robe hanging loosely from thin shoulders, the dishevelled hair falling into a face that was all shadows and angles, pale eyes made brighter still by the dark smudges beneath them - then all that was in his arms, hugging him so tightly it was almost painful.

"Ah - so it's like that, then?"

Harry heard Ant's comment, but ignored him, because painful was, in a strange way, rather nice - as his arms closed around the slim, strong body, his fingers twisted in the thin fabric, then unexpectedly slid over hot, smooth skin. Malfoy flinched and pulled free.

"I thought you didn't approve of 'cosy human contact'."

Malfoy curled his lip. "I thought I was stuck among the Muggles. Trust me, I would have been dishing out cosy human contact to _Weasley _if he'd opened that door." He met Harry's eyes and sneered. "And then I would have had to kill him. Now - give me my wand." Harry looked at Ant, who immediately began searching in his jacket. "You gave my wand to a _Muggle_?"

Colour flooded across Ant's face. His fingers were tight around the wand as he pulled it free. "I. Am. Not. A. Muggle."

Harry looked at Malfoy, facing the point of his own wand, and marvelled. Ant was red-faced and shaking with anger; Malfoy, shorter and slighter and clad only in that ridiculous robe, should have cut a pathetic figure in comparison, but he stood there, back straight and head held high, radiating anger and injured dignity. When he spoke, his accent was at its most patrician - every syllable dripped with disdain. "Then what _are _you?" Long fingers curled around the wand. "Certainly no wizard."

Harry heard a sound like bacon sizzling, and as Ant hissed with pain and snatched his hand away, he smelt the sickening smell of burnt flesh. Malfoy hugged his rescued wand to him much as he had Harry earlier. Ant shoved his fingers into his mouth. "No wizard," Malfoy said again, and Harry wanted to thump that cruel smile off his face.

He contented himself with grabbing Malfoy's arm. _Just the way he hates it. _His fingers dug hard into muscle - too hard. _And I hope it hurts. _"Ant's _helping_ us."

"Helping _you _perhaps." Malfoy twisted free, and started tugging at the opening of his robe. "Look what they've done to me, Potter." The tie at his neck gave way, and the robe gaped open, exposing an expanse of white skin - and the red, puckered wound and black stitches that marred its perfect porcelain smoothness. "_Look._"

"Did you take the dressings off yourself?" Harry said. "Because you really should keep those stitches covered." The words were automatic, almost meaningless; he found himself transfixed by the mutilation. Malfoy snorted.

"Bit hard on the eye, Potter? Believe me - it feels even worse than it looks."

"I bet." _And it looks like vandalism. _It was a peculiar thing, to see something perfect about someone he'd always detested, and to mourn the loss of that perfection. Those delicate looks had always been so resilient - for all their fights, all the bruises Harry had left on that pale skin, Malfoy always bounced back, nothing made a permanent mark on him. _Well, almost nothing. _Harry had never seen the full extent of the scarring his own curse had left, but he knew it was there.

Funny how the guilt hadn't faded over time, but just became stronger.

"Bringing you here probably saved your life," Ant said. He glared at Malfoy as if he'd like to add a few wounds of his own. "Be glad I didn't just leave you to bleed to death." _Because you'd deserve it, _his expression said.

"You? You brought us here? This is _your _fault?" Malfoy spun around to face Ant, his eyes bright with fury; Harry promptly stepped between them.

"No - this is Snape's fault - _all_ of it. I don't know what's going on in his head, but he's the one who sent you to help me, then cursed you when you were doing just that."

Malfoy didn't deny it, but the way he glared at Harry suggested that, whoever he was blaming for his current state, it certainly wasn't Snape. "He didn't kidnap me, though, did he, Potter?"

"No, but I bet he was the reason you were at the Manor." Malfoy's expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. _And that's one to me - I'm not so thick as you seem to think, am I? _Malfoy looked at Ant, and the box he was carrying. The expression on his face suggested that the box might leap out of Ant's arms and attack him. "And what the hell is in that thing?"

"I don't know - I don't think I want to." Malfoy's shoulders sagged; his posture was suddenly not so proud. "How did you know I was in here?"

"I -" Harry faltered. Had he known? All he remembered was a sudden overwhelming urge to open that particular door, regardless of what might be behind it. He found himself looking at the box. He could smell the sea again, and a slow, unpleasant sensation crept up his spine. "I don't know," he said, echoing Malfoy. _And I don't think I want to._


	11. Chapter 6a

A/N - this chapter looks like it's going to be another long one, so here's the first part of it now.

* * *

_**6a.**_

The summer day was bright and golden. As Harry trudged across the field, the sun warm on his skin and the country air sweet in his nostrils, he felt almost as if the weather and scenery were deliberately mocking him. At that place, at that moment, it was hard to believe that a dark shadow was stretching itself over his world, destroying everything in its path. The building he was heading for, with its crooked chimneys and old stone, was as much a perfect part of this scene as the green trees and fields of corn and the cows that placidly watched Harry and Malfoy as they crossed their field, but it could have already been touched by that shadow.

Which was why they had Apparated to a cautious distance away, rather than to the front door. It strained Harry's patience to the limit, as desperate as he was to discover if his friends were all right, but, despite what Malfoy seemed to think, he did understand the value of caution. He just chose not to use it sometimes.

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Malfoy. He was quite a distance behind Harry, due to winding his way through the field, keeping as far away from the cowpats as he could and glaring at them as if they'd been put there to personally offend him. Despite his worries, the sight of him made Harry smile.

The clothes Ant had provided were too big for either of them, but he'd seemed to take delight in putting Malfoy in the baggiest jeans and loudest t-shirt he could find. The t-shirt hung down around his thighs and was a luminous yellow that clashed horribly with his hair and made him look even more sickly and ill. It was also decorated with a large smiley face. It was so hideously inappropriate that Harry had to believe it was revenge for Ant's scorched fingers.

Still, at least Malfoy didn't look quite as _naked_ as he had in his previous Muggle get-up. Harry didn't know why a perfectly ordinary t-shirt and jeans should look obscenely revealing on Malfoy, but he suspected it was because he was more used to the other boy swathed from neck to ankle in heavy fabric. There was something _wrong _about him in Muggle clothes - wrong in a severely distracting way.

Harry stopped when he reached the hedge and waited for Malfoy to catch him up. The rucksack he was carrying just made the picture even more amusing - he looked like a kid sent to school in his elder brother's once-fashionable hand-me-downs_. _If it hadn't been for his thoughts on what might be awaiting them at the Burrow, Harry would have thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle. He'd spent enough time in baggy hand-me-downs himself to sympathise with Malfoy, even while he was appreciating Ant's idea of justice.

Ant had given Harry his phone number, with the promise he'd help in any way he could. Harry planned to pass it on to Lupin; an agent in the Muggle world would probably be as useful to the Order as it had been to the Ministry. He certainly understood Ant's desire to do something - _anything - _to help, to not have to wait passively for Voldemort to attack.

"When you're ready…" he said to Malfoy, who glared at him. The look he gave the stile, and the house and garden beyond it, was no more friendly.

"What is this place?"

"The Burrow," Harry said. "Ron's home."

He waited for some derisive comment about the house, but Malfoy just pulled a face. "So we're going to tea with Weasley and his clan? _Wonderful_."

Harry managed a smile. _God - I wish that was what we were doing…_ "I thought you'd like the idea."

Malfoy shook his head slowly. "And I thought this day couldn't get any worse. I hate you, Potter." But he was smiling as he said it, one of his twisted, complex smiles. The smile itself seemed genuine enough, but the emotions behind it were unreadable. Harry found himself staring at Malfoy's mouth, wondering how he'd missed noticing how mobile and expressive it was. "So, are we going in, then? Or do you plan to just stand there staring at me for the rest of the day?"

Jolted out of his pleasant contemplation, Harry felt guilt creep over him. After all his impatience - the hasty Apparation, the march across the field - now he was actually here, he was scared to go in, scared of what he might find. Waiting for Malfoy, trying to bicker with him - it was all stalling.

_Harry Potter - Saviour of the Wizarding World - trying to put off the inevitable. Pathetic._

He flushed and turned to the stile - then drew back, hand going to his wand, as he heard movement behind the hedge.

But the person who walked past was no Death Eater. Harry caught a glimpse of a small, slim figure scattering grain on the ground, her mane of red hair blazing in the bright sunlight - then Ginny was almost hidden by the squawking chickens surrounding her.

He was so relieved to see her, obviously unhurt - and surely nothing bad could have happened, if she was doing something as ordinary as feeding the chickens - that he forgot caution and leapt up onto the stile.

Ginny dropped the basket of grain and spun around, wand in hand.

"_Impedimenta!"_

She was definitely getting more powerful, Harry thought vaguely, as he lay on the ground and waited for his vision to clear and his limbs to work again. That hex had felt like he was being hit by a lorry - he must have been thrown back a good ten foot. As the one who'd taught that spell to her, he knew he should feel proud, but he just hurt too much.

He managed to lift his head off the ground, then almost wished he hadn't. Ginny and Malfoy were facing each other over the stile, wands raised. Their poses were very different - hers tense and guarded, wand arm stiff and held straight out, and his loose and confident, wand arm back and held like a poisonous snake preparing to strike - but the looks on their faces were identical. Two pretty faces - two very ugly expressions.

Another girl, one Harry didn't know, hovered uncertainly behind Ginny, holding a frying pan like a sword, a constant stream of words coming from her mouth.

"Is it _them_? Have they come for me? Oh god - have they come for me? They have, haven't they? They've -"

"Aggie," Ginny said firmly, "everything's all right. Please go back inside." Her voice rang with certainty and seemed to have a calming effect on the nearly hysterical girl.

"Are you sure?"

"Just go inside." Ginny didn't take her eyes off Malfoy once, not even to check that Aggie was doing as she was told. She looked beautiful and formidable, and Harry was proud of her.

_My perfect ex-girlfriend…_

He sighed and struggled to his feet, every muscle hurting.

"Harry, are you all right? I'm really sorry about the hex, we're just all really on edge around here at the moment."

"Put the wands down, both of you. _Now._"

"I will when she does, Potter," Malfoy drawled, and Ginny's gaze flicked between them. She looked puzzled.

_And if Malfoy had still been a Death Eater, he would have had her just then._

"But -"

"It's a long story," Malfoy said. "But the short version is - I was stupid enough to save Potter's life and now I'm stuck with him. And I could have just hexed you into oblivion."

Her brown eyes flashed with that fine old Weasley temper, and Harry was just starting to think he'd have to physically get between them, when Malfoy lowered his wand. "What the hell." He spread his arms out and sneered at Ginny, who just looked even angrier. "Go ahead, little Weasel princess. Take your best shot."

So Harry found himself in the strange position of standing in front of a smirking Draco Malfoy, looking at the point of Ginny's wand as she threw every insult she knew in Malfoy's direction, including some even Harry had never heard before. _At least it isn't hexes she's throwing. And I'm really glad Mrs Weasley can't hear this. Though she isn't a fan of the Malfoys, either - she'd probably agree with most of it._

"Are you all right?" he said, as the tirade ended. "The Death Eaters haven't been here?"

The question seemed to throw her. Ginny blinked and looked at Harry as if she wasn't really seeing him, but something else. Something much worse. "Only your new _friend_," she said eventually. She looked to the front door. Aggie was peering out fearfully. "And _I'm _fine."

"Who is she? One of your friends from school?"

"Aggie's mum works with Dad at the Ministry. Her dad's a Muggle…_was _a Muggle." Ginny looked over Harry's shoulder at Malfoy, and her fingers tightened on her wand. Her voice shook. "Aggie was at home when they came for him."

Harry didn't know what to say. Even Malfoy was, for once, thankfully silent. Neither of them asked for any details.

Harry looked back towards the house and the girl, only to see her being moved gently out of the way by Arthur Weasley as he came outside.

"What's all this noise about, Ginny?"

The relief Harry felt was like a tide rushing over him. All the horrible things he'd imagined - everything he'd expected - seemed to be washed away by the appearance of this thin, bespectacled man in his worn robes. He vaulted over the stile. If Mr Weasley was safe and unharmed, then surely -

Then he noticed the forlorn look on Ginny's face, and the way that Mr Weasley was looking at him. He wore the same kindly, curious expression when he looked at Harry as he did when his gaze shifted to Malfoy. Something wasn't right…

"Friends from school?"

"Arthur! Your dinner's getting cold. Come back inside." Mrs Weasley came out; listening to her gentle fussing over her husband made Harry feel tired and cold. In recent years her fussing had felt rather overbearing, but he would give anything for a bit of that now.

She noticed him. Her eyes glowed with relief and love, and he felt a bit better. She didn't say anything to him, however, just "yours too, young lady - get inside," to Ginny.

"Is it cottage pie?" Mr Weasley asked, as his wife steered him deftly back inside the house.

"What's wrong with him?"

Ginny sighed. "Twenty-four hours without any kind of word from him - Mum was going mad with worry. He just turned up this morning, calm as anything, like he'd just had a good day at the office. Something was wrong, though, everyone could see it. Ron and Hermione were still here then, and Dad didn't even recognise her. It took long enough for him to recognise his own kids - he kept going on about us all growing up overnight -" She looked down at her hands, at the wand being twisted between slim fingers, and bit her lip. A couple of moments later, she continued; she even managed a passably casual shrug. "Anyway, Mum checked his wand, and the last spell it'd done was Obliviate."

Harry stared at her, horrified. Ginny shrugged again, as if the movement made it all so much easier. "We don't know how much of his memory's been wiped - possibly years. Mum reckons the spell was done in a hurry."

"He did it to himself?" Harry imagined himself as Mr Weasley, trapped as the Death Eaters overran the Ministry. Would he have had the courage to do that - to turn his wand on himself so he wouldn't be forced to betray his friends? Or would he have tried to fight, and been taken away and interrogated anyway, with his secrets intact and ready for extraction by Veritaserum and Cruciatus?

Again, Harry found himself lost for words. His attempts at expressing his sympathy sounded feeble. Fortunately Ginny was saved from them by her mother, who came rushing back out of the house. She went straight to Harry and hugged him tight.

"Thank heavens you're safe, dear - we were all so worried." She fussed over him for a moment, then frowned at Malfoy, who remained out in the field, carefully separate from the reunions. He gave her his best smirk.

"It's a long story," Harry said.

"Do you trust him?"

"_Yes._"

"Well, I hope you're right to do so, because Remus left this for you, just in case you turned up here." Mrs Weasley pressed an envelope into his hand. "Take care, Harry."

"I'm really sorry about Mr Weasley," Harry blurted out, because he really was and he had to say _something_, however useless and pathetic.

She just smiled at him and said, "why? You didn't do it, did you? Arthur's alive. We have to be thankful for whatever mercies we can."

Ginny watched her mother go back inside, then managed a smile for Aggie as she waved at her from the window.

"You know, she's not even my friend - just one of the girls that used to hang around Michael. But she came here, because I'm a Pureblood and I was in the DA, and somehow that's a magical combination. She thinks she'll be safe here."

"She will be. You're strong. You'll look after her."

Ginny's smile was gone. Her lips twisted, as if she wasn't sure whether to smile or cry.

"I miss the DA," she said unexpectedly, and managed a twisted smile. Her eyes were bright with what could be unshed tears. Harry tensed up. He was no good with tears. "It was such a good game, wasn't it?"

He smiled back, but his heart wasn't in it. "Not for me."

"I suppose not."

Harry felt suddenly awkward. He felt as if he should be doing something, but he didn't know what. The silence stretched on, and Ginny's eyes never left his face.

He did care about her, it was just -

There was a very meaningful cough from behind him. "Just kiss the girl, Potter, then we can be going."

Ginny reacted as if she'd been slapped; Harry spun around and glared at Malfoy, who shrugged. "If you're shy, I can turn my back."

Malfoy's face was carefully set into an expression of complete innocence, but his eyes glinted. Harry looked at his mouth, at lips that twitched as if they wanted to curl into either a smile or a sneer, and wanted to hit him.

Arms slipped around him from behind and gave him a quick hard hug. "Take care of yourself, Harry."

He spun round, to return the sentiment, to apologise for Malfoy, to apologise for _himself_ - to apologise for not being able to be all that she needed - but he found himself speaking to thin air.

The door slammed behind her as she fled into the house, leaving Harry standing alone in the garden with just the chickens pecking around his feet for company.

Well, not just the chickens.

"Trouble in paradise?"

* * *

Potter certainly knew how to over-react to a bit of gentle teasing, Draco reflected as he was shoved back into the hedge. Sharp bits of twig jabbed into his back through the thin cotton of the ridiculous shirt, and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out.

"Don't. Start."

"I know you have weird moral standards, Potter, but you _are_ allowed to kiss your girlfriend - that's the whole point of having one."

"Ginny's not my girlfriend." Potter's hands were twisted up in the yellow cotton, and he was invading Draco's personal space to the point that he could feel his breath on his face. Instinct told him to shut up and let Potter calm down, but instinct didn't have any control over his mouth, which just kept talking.

"Well, you're allowed to kiss her anyway. Unless she dumped you. Aww - did she dump you, Potter?"

"No!"

"_You_ dumped _her_? Well - that's blown your reputation for chivalry. Shag-em-and-leave-em-Potter - whoever would have thought it?"

"We didn't -" Potter scowled and let him go. "It was for her own good. It's not safe for her to be around me."

Draco pulled himself out of the hedge and made a point of straightening his clothes. "I agree with that. If this is what you're like with me, I'd hate to see you in a relationship. Poor girl was probably covered in bruises." Potter opened his mouth to protest, but Draco had already decided to take pity on him. "I'm _joking_, Potter. Where's your sense of humour?" Besides, the conversation was getting boring - who the hell wanted to talk about the orange-haired princess? He'd heard enough about how beautiful and fantastic she was from Nott and even Zabini - he thought he'd puke if he heard it from Potter too.

He snatched the crumpled envelope from Potter's hand. "Let's see what your friend left you."

The only thing in the envelope was a folded-up piece of paper - a paper that wouldn't unfold. It felt glued together. Draco eventually gave up on it and handed it back to Harry. "Some gift."

"It is." Ink flooded up to stain the paper beneath Harry's fingertips, forming words. _School Lane, Heath, Yorkshire. _

"Shall we move on?"

* * *

A few minutes later, they walked down a quiet lane, away from a sleepy little village, and wondered what to do next. The lane was shaded by trees and surrounded by fields. It was pretty, but they'd walked up and down it twice and seen nothing but those trees and fields.

"This is a wild goose chase."

"No." Potter stared at the paper, and if he was willing it to write more, it wasn't responding. "This _is _Lupin's hand-writing."

"Lupin?" Draco said casually, but inside he felt a faint pang of alarm.

"Professor Lupin - you must remember him? He taught Defence against the Dark Arts."

"Oh. The werewolf." _Careful, careful - stay calm - think of the humiliation of Potter seeing you scared…_

Potter gave him a quick glare, as if he'd read more into those innocent three words than Draco had intended. _Pre-emptive jumping to the defence. I suppose that becomes a habit when you're friends with a werewolf._

_Though how anyone can actually be _friends _with a werewolf… Aunt Bella only likes Greyback because she gets to watch him tear people apart. I doubt Potter's into that kind of thing._

_Well, I suppose he _could _be… _

"Got something."

Draco looked up. Potter stood in the middle of the road, the folded paper opening up like a flower in his hands.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing. It just opened…" Potter's words trailed off, and he stared into a field as if it had suddenly acquired magical riches. Flame licked at the edges of the paper. "Read this - quick!"

The paper blackened. Draco ran over, saw the words _The Old Schoolhouse _dissolve into flame. Potter swore and dropped the burning paper, but it seemed Draco had seen just enough.

He looked at the field Potter had. His view was now blocked by an old brick wall topped with wrought-iron railings. A rusty metal gate hung half off its hinges, and through it he could see a large brick building. It was a bit of mess - there were cracks in the walls, most of the windows were broken, and the roof was missing half its slates.

Potter pulled out his wand. Draco thought the gate would fall of as he touched it, but it swung open, without so much as a creak. He took his own wand out and followed him.

The paving stones beneath his feet were cracked, grass and weeds competing with each other to swallow them up. This had once been a playground, but the climbing frame was broken, lying in rusty pieces on the ground, and the swings that creaked in the breeze had rust-covered chains and paint peeling from their seats. The air was still and heavy.

"So, where are your friends?" He didn't know why he whispered, just that the place felt dead. Dead for a long time.

Potter shook his head. "I don't -"

Draco felt the alarm rather than heard it, as if all his senses were an elastic band that had just been twanged.

The still air was broken by the _cracks _of several people Apparating into it. Draco stood in a circle of strangers and tried to pretend he wasn't bothered by all the wands pointing in his direction.

_Now's definitely the time to let Potter do the talking…_


	12. Chapter 6b

A/N - thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed this story so far. You're all lovely! X

* * *

**_6b_**

They weren't all strangers. Draco recognised that mad old teacher from fourth year - the one who thought transfiguration was the perfect way to discipline students. He would hardly forget _him_.

He was the one questioning Potter.

"When did we first meet?"

"August 1995. The, um, 6th?"

"Not before?"

The question was gruff, and he still eyed Potter with suspicion. Potter just grinned at him. "We weren't properly introduced until then. You never did teach any classes at Hogwarts, even after you were released from your trunk."

Draco listened with interest but total incomprehension. Potter had been Moody's teacher's pet for a full year before he was claiming they met - and what the hell was all this about a trunk? Then he lost interest as the mad old bastard declared Potter to be Potter, not some Death Eater using Polyjuice, and there was general jubilation that the golden boy was safe.

_Hurray! The world is safe! Everyone's so boring and predictable._

Draco yawned and stretched, feeling stabs of pain in his back. No one was happy to see _him_. He returned the evil looks he was being given with interest.

_I'll cheer for him when he actually _does _something. Up to now he's been useless._

The main doors of the school opened with a thud. More people came rushing out. Draco suppressed a groan as he spotted Weasley and Granger amongst them. They virtually leapt on their friend.

_He _came out too - the werewolf. He looked tired and worn, but the sight of Harry prompted a wide smile. Draco just tried not to panic. Oh, Lupin seemed like a nice enough man, and had certainly been a better teacher than that Moody creature, but he wasn't a _man_, was he? Draco had originally thought his father was over-reacting when he'd raised the hue-and-cry about a werewolf teaching at Hogwarts, but he knew better now. He knew what was under that mild exterior, the _animal _waiting to get out.

But that animal was the only person to notice Draco as anything but a irritant. Mild brown eyes swept over him, taking in the outrageous Muggle clothes with no more than a raised eyebrow. "Let me guess," Lupin said, "it's a long story?"

He reached out, and Draco fought to keep from flinching away as Lupin's long fingers gently closed around his wrist, turning his arm over to look at the Mark. Lupin was almost as thin as Draco, and he certainly didn't look like anything to scared of - it was such a cruel disguise. At least Greyback was honest about being a monster.

Memories flickered up, fresh and bloody. He could feel the cold wet stone beneath him, hear Greyback's grunts of pain as he changed. He could feel the body on top of him, bones shifting position, muscles stretching and reshaping, skin feeling like liquid as it flowed over its new shape. He could smell the stench of blood and decay, feel the drool drip onto his neck. He could feel the fangs against his skin, the fur, thick and bristly -

Draco pulled away from Lupin. It was all he could do to stay standing there in the playground, to not hex him and run away. When Lupin reached for him again he bit back a whimper; the last thing he needed was to make a spectacle of himself in front of Potter and his mates.

Lupin's nostrils twitched; he looked at Draco with concern and a bit of curiosity.

"Look - he's changed sides. He saved my life. That's enough for me."

"How do you know this isn't all a trick? A set-up to get you to trust a spy?"

"Even if he has turned against You-Know-Who, you can't trust him! He could turn against you just as easily!"

"Why would he?"

"The question is - why _wouldn't _he? He doesn't care about anyone but himself! He never has!"

It seemed as though Draco's presence had managed to ruin the celebration completely. Lupin looked over to where Harry was trying to argue with five people at once, including Weasley and Granger.

"Harry - the number of times Malfoy's tried to hex you in the back -"

Draco met Lupin's questioning gaze and shrugged. "It was only the once." He found himself starting to relax and cursed his own gullibility. Lupin might appear to have the animal well in check, but it was still in there, just below that too-nice-to-be-true exterior.

"I _trust _him!"

"I can't believe you brought a Death Eater _here_ -"

Lupin coughed. "Shall we take this inside?"

The mild comment stopped the argument as effectively as a shout, and Draco made a mental note. The werewolf was the boss there - or, at the very least, the nominal leader.

_Definitely someone to keep on the right side of. Some sucking-up might even be appropriate._

* * *

Inside the Old Schoolhouse was very different from the outside. Anywhere enough witches and wizards were concentrated, magic would eventually be used to make it more comfortable. This could have been a cave in a hillside and someone would have conjured up lush carpets and comfy sofas and four-poster beds. The only suggestion that the hall they walked into wasn't a dwelling, but a refugee camp, was in the number of people packed into it, and their little piles of belongings. The lines were carefully drawn - each family seemed to have their own little spot, centring around a bed or a sofa and marked out with those belongings. But that was human nature, wasn't it? Even when running for their lives, people needed a space that was _theirs_.

"Who are all these people?" Potter asked.

"Refugees," Draco said. Lupin looked at him in surprise, maybe even a little impressed, and he preened. _I was always good at pleasing the teachers._

"In a manner of speaking. These are all people who feel they have to go underground while Voldemort is in charge. Two days in power and he's already ordered a census." Lupin shrugged. "Such an innocent-sounding thing, but when you consider our new government's views on blood purity, is it really surprising that people are already starting to run?"

Draco wondered what would happen when the hall filled up. Oh, some of these people might join the vigilante group - the Order of the Phoenix, Snape had called them - to fight back, but most of them would need moving on elsewhere. The simplest thing to do with the Mudbloods was to send them back to where they came from. Back to the Muggle world, where they belonged.

It was a good idea in principle, but something about it made him uncomfortable.

"Malfoy needs a healer," Potter said. "His back is a mess."

The pain in Draco's back had faded, replaced by intermittent itching. Finding the school, meeting the werewolf, and seeing the refugees had all rather pushed the stitches from his mind. The reminder was welcome. He could finally get rid of those Muggle abominations.

He threw his rucksack to the floor and stripped off the hideous shirt, prompting gasps of horror from the people around him.

_And those gasps had better be caused by the Muggles' handiwork - my body isn't that ugly._

"Livia!" Lupin's call brought over a young woman with dreadlocked hair, who whistled when she got a good look at Draco's back. She carried a heavy bag; Draco heard the sound of glass clinking together as she hauled it onto the closest sofa, shooing away the two elderly wizards who had claimed it.

"Right - on here, honey. Let's get you sorted out."

"Stay here," Lupin said. "We're just going to discuss a few things." Draco looked for Potter, and saw him being steered firmly away by his friends. "Relax. You're safe now."

Draco looked at Lupin's kindly face, at the healer with her wand at the ready, at the human debris around him, and realised something. To this 'Order' he wasn't a potential recruit, but another refugee. _And that is _not _in the fucking plan. _

Two steps and he was at Potter's side. To his surprise, Potter didn't resist as Draco dragged him away from his friends, and he was too busy staring at Draco's chest to protest.

_Yeah, take a good fucking look. That scar - you made that, you bastard._

"So, that's it, is it? No thanks, just a pat on the head and a 'you'll be safe'? You got me into this, Potter. You _kidnap _me, then I get you out of the Ministry, getting fucking cut up in the process, and _this _is how I get repaid? Packed off into hiding with Mudbloods while you go off on your merry fucking way?" Potter's head shot up, and his eyes flashed with anger. "You wanted me. You went out of your way to get me. Well, now you have to decide what to do with me."

Potter's eyes filled up with confusion and something that wasn't anger - not quite. Something that seemed to suck the air from Draco's lungs and made his entire body tense up in anticipation - anticipation of _what_, he wasn't sure, but he felt really uncomfortable, especially when Potter flushed and dropped his eyes. Potter's gaze felt like a physical thing as he stared at the scar. As his eyes followed the line of it down to where it disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers, Draco's skin reacted as if it was being touched, as if Potter was running his fingers over it rather than just _looking_.

Someone should really magic up some fans, he thought vaguely - the air in the hall was stiflingly hot.

Then something clicked in Draco's head. He'd seen that look before - in Zabini's eyes, and Flint's, and Greyback's, fuck him. Potter wanted to…his mind flinched away from the concept and replaced it with another, juvenile but safer…Potter _fancied _him.

For a moment he was furious - Draco had been kidnapped, tied up, tortured and cut up because Potter had a _hard-on_? But his sense of the ridiculous was tickled by it. The world was suddenly like one of one of those optical illusions - just as a painting that was one moment an old hag with a large nose could become, by an involuntary twist of the mind, a glamorous young woman, so could Potter's tediously-heroic saving-people-thing turn into something so self-centred, so _Slytherin_, that Draco just wanted to laugh.

He stepped closer to Potter, so close that he could feel the fabric of Potter's shirt shiver against his bare skin. Potter took a hasty step back and cracked his shin against somebody's conjured coffee table.

"I don't want to hide. I want to _fight._" It was an out-and-out lie, but Potter liked it. His head shot up and he stared at Draco - _and fuck, he actually looks excited._Draco dropped his voice until it was almost a purr. "I'm yours now - your responsibility. After all that effort to get me, you'd better make sure you use me well." Then, coup-de-grâce delivered and obviously effective, he spun on his heel and walked back over to Livia.

A quick glance back showed Potter still standing there, staring after him with his mouth hanging open like an idiot.

_A perfect performance, even if I do say so myself._

* * *

Harry walked out of the hall with his mind reeling.

_What the hell just happened?_

Well, Malfoy had managed to put unwelcome pictures in Harry's head and equally uncomfortable feelings in his body with just a few ambiguous (and most likely innocent) words. But his words weren't the problem, were they? The problem was that unnecessary closeness, the breath tickling Harry's cheek, the heat of his body, the _sight _of his body… If jeans and t-shirt were 'dangerously naked', how to describe Malfoy topless, with only the curve of his arse holding up his borrowed jeans?

He'd looked at the scars - and Malfoy had more of those than he'd been expecting - but he'd also looked at his shoulders, wide enough to be almost out of proportion with the rest of his gaunt body, at his tiny nipples, only a shade darker than the ivory of his skin, at his hip bones that looked almost too sharp to touch…

_God - why did he have to get so _close_? _

Malfoy couldn't have been doing it _deliberately_, could he? Harry had never been on the receiving end of such aggressive flirting before, but -

No. It wasn't some girl with an embarrassing case of hero-worship, it was Draco fucking Malfoy, who'd already made it clear - many times - how much he hated Harry touching him.

Harry shook his head, as if by doing so he could somehow dislodge the confusion. In the end, he seized on the only thing about the conversation that had been clear and unthreatening.

_I don't want to hide. I want to _fight.

Those words had sent a thrill down Harry's spine, because to hear your own feelings put into words by someone else, words said with such _passion_, was exhilarating. It was those words he concentrated on as he tried to work out convincing reasons to trust Malfoy and let him work with the Order - not his smooth skin, or his long translucent lashes, or his wide, oh-so-expressive mouth. _I want to _fight. Harry was going to make damn sure they both got the chance to do just that.

The room the Order members were filing into looked like a staff room. Standing in the doorway, looking at over-stuffed armchairs and battered filing cabinets, Harry felt like he was back at primary school. He chose an armchair and sat down; Ron plonked himself down next to him.

"Harry, mate, where the hell have you been? How did you end up with Malfoy?" Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Ron was quicker. "And none of this 'long story' crap." He grinned at Harry. Harry returned the smile. After a day in Malfoy's company, Ron's simple good-humour and open smile were refreshing.

"How did things go at Malfoy Manor? Was the tour useful?" Which was Hermione's way of saying 'did you find the cup?'. She took the chair on his other side.

"It was interesting. Of course, the day was spoiled completely when the Death Eaters attacked the place." Harry told the story as quickly as he could - getting away from the Manor, the safe house, being taken to the Ministry but not being recognised, the escape, the hospital - if he left out a few minor details, like Malfoy not coming with him from the Manor of his own free will, or Snape sending Malfoy to help him at the Ministry, did it really matter? It just helped to make the story shorter.

"It's a shame that you had to leave the painting behind." Hermione ran her fingers over her mouth, lost in thought, and, Harry noticed with a grin, completely oblivious to Ron watching her do it. "I wonder who the girl was. And this 'grumpy man' of hers."

"She mentioned a 'Draco'. I should probably ask Malfoy about her." Harry looked at his friends and saw their interested expressions turn stony. "There can't many people about with a name like that," he added quickly, "and the painting was in his house."

"Harry, be careful. You of all people know what Malfoy's like. How can you trust him so easily?" Hermione looked to Ron for support. She got it.

"So Malfoy came to your rescue at the Ministry. Great. Fine, we all owe him one. But you're making him sound like some kind of hero." Ron scowled. "And that's one thing that little git will _never _be."

* * *

Draco lay with his cheek pressed against the cushions of the sofa, trying not to flinch as yet another stitch was pulled free from his flesh. Livia dropped the thread, with its ugly knot, into a bowl already containing a twisted mass of the things.

"You know, I'm starting to think Muggle medicine has more to teach us than we tend to think," she said. "How long have these been in? Twelve hours? Sixteen? And this wound is practically healed. Oh, I'll have to take steps to prevent scarring, because they don't seem to have given _any_ thought to that, but it really is impressive."

Draco looked at the bowl of thread and kept his thoughts to himself. He wasn't feeling very charitable towards the Muggle 'healers' at that moment, and he had a nasty suspicion that maybe the speeding healing had more to do with _him _than any Muggle cleverness.

_We heal fast. And there are other advantages…_

The fabric of the cushions had a raised pattern on it - flowers and polka-dots - and Draco felt like it was becoming embossed onto his face. When Livia said "there we go, honey - all done," he sat up and rubbed at his numb cheek.

He wasn't going to think about Greyback, or anything he'd said. _Because he's a liar as well as a monster._

_And I'm being watched. _Draco looked around. He couldn't see anyone directly looking at him and he hadn't seen anyone looking either of the other times he'd checked, but he was sure… One of the refugees, a very ugly old crone, met his eyes and grinned, exposing toothless gums. Draco flinched and turned his attention back to Livia.

"I've got a little essence of dittany. If applied regularly it should reduce the scarring."

"You took your time getting here." The words were hissed in his ear, so close he could smell the breath of the speaker. He jumped, and saw that the old witch had sidled up to him. She leered and him and pressed something hard and metallic into his palm. "From a friend."

The gift was a silver pendant. It was old and tarnished, but the quality of the workmanship that had gone into making it was still evident. On one side was a finely engraved picture of a man carrying a staff and what looked like a child on his back, up to his shins in water. "What friend? I haven't got any friends here." There were words engraved around the edge of the picture. Draco rubbed his finger over them, trying to make them out. A spell, perhaps?

_Sai-- -hristoph-- Pro-- Me. _

As he mouthed the words, he felt something reach down inside him and tug at his centre of gravity. Then the world was reduced to a feeling of acceleration and a whirling mix of colour and light.

* * *

"I don't understand why Harry here is so set on having this boy join us," Moody's magical eye spun around to look at Harry, who stared back and hoped it couldn't see into minds as easily as it saw through walls, "but there's a simple enough way to make sure of his loyalty."

"How?" Harry felt battered and tired of arguing. If Moody could suggest anything that would let him have his way without alienating all his friends and allies, he'd take it.

"Have you heard of something called an Unbreakable Vow?"

"Yes." The word came out calmly enough, but Harry's fingers sunk into the fabric of the chair-arm. He wanted to scream at Moody - and at all the others, sitting there, nodding and whispering as if it was a perfect solution. Hermione leantover and touched his arm, her expression concerned. Harry took a deep breath. "I know all about Unbreakable Vows," he said, "and the only way you'll make Malfoy take one is over my dead body."

"Mine too," Lupin said unexpectedly. "In my opinion, the Unbreakable Vow is dangerously close to the Dark Arts. You might as well suggest Imperiusing the boy, Alastor."

"So you agree with Harry - we should just take him in on _trust_?"

"Not trusting enough can be as harmful as trusting too much," Lupin said. He closed his eyes, and Harry was grateful - the pain and sorrow in them had been hard to look at. "We're not getting anywhere with this. Harry, why don't you take a walk?" He looked at Harry, eyes back to their usual mild good humour. And that _had_ to be an act, coming so quickly after all that pain. "And try to _calm down_. We're all on the same side here, remember."

Harry stood up, aware of every eye in the room on him. "This isn't over," he said. Hermione made an irritated little sigh, and Ron was looking at him as if he really was a Polyjuiced Death Eater.

Lupin just smiled. "Of course not."

_They all talk so much about trust - why can't they just trust _me?

Harry avoided Ron's outstretched arm and almost ran out of the room. He stood in the empty corridor and looked at the children's paintings tacked to the peeling walls. The paints were faded and the paper curling around the edges, but he could still make out the things depicted, however amateurishly. Children always seemed to draw the same things - boxy little houses, unnatural-looking trees, fluffy clouds, and groups of people standing together - their homes, families and friends.

Harry had never drawn pictures like that as a child. 'Home', 'family' and 'friends' had all been alien concepts to him - things only other people had. Until he'd gone to Hogwarts. The castle had become his home, and the friends he'd made there had become his family. Only now he couldn't go back to Hogwarts and his friends didn't trust him.

The floorboards creaked under his feet as he walked. He tried not to look at the paintings, or let himself dwell on the memories they brought. That lonely little boy with no friends, always bullied, never quite fitting in - he didn't exist anyone. Harry had left him behind a long time ago. And there was nothing to be gained by thinking about him now.

He opened the door to the hall. The noise and activity inside, and the hall's chaotic furnishing, made a welcome contrast to the deserted corridor with its souvenirs of childhood.

His eyes sought out Malfoy. He was easy to spot, even amongst all those people.

Malfoy was talking to an old woman. He looked at something in his hand, said something, and disappeared…

"Draco!"

Harry's shout seemed to be swallowed up in the noise of the hall, lost amongst the laughter and chatter of people going about their business, oblivious to the boy who'd just been snatched from their midst. But the old woman heard him. She spun around much too quickly for her age and look of general feebleness, and grinned wildly at him as he started to push past people, trying to get to her before she -

- Apparated away…

* * *

Draco's feet slammed against uneven stone. He managed to stay upright and even kept hold of the pendant. _Pretty fancy thing to turn into a Portkey_.

_And I'm an idiot for just accepting something like that from some random stranger._

Self-recriminations could wait until later, however - providing there _was _a later. Draco didn't know who had sent him the Portkey or where it had taken him - and both were pretty important questions.

The darkness surrounding him seemed almost heavy enough to touch. He put his hand out, to see if there was anything around him but empty space. His fingers touched wet stone, and something cold and slick that made him snatch his hand back. He pulled out his wand and thought _lumos_. Because that had felt just like…

Bones. Lit up in the beam of light from his wand was a real skeleton, bound to the rock in an extremely contorted position. Symbols like those he'd seen in the Ministry's maintenance corridors were painted around it, the paint encrusted with something that glittered in the light like crushed diamonds.

As he moved the light, he saw that the Portkey had deposited him in a narrow passageway carved into solid rock. The bones were everywhere, bound to the ceiling as well as the walls.

Draco thought about the Portkey journey. There had been moments of absolute stillness, accompanied by the feeling of running up against a barrier which, after a couple of seconds, let him through. Those barriers must have been wards.

_Wards that let me through without any trouble, plus this very cheery decoration…_

_I'm back in the castle._

He heard the laboured creak of door hinges left for centuries without attention, and swung his wand in the direction of the sound. A hurried "nox" cut off the light and freed his wand for cursing.

Not that Draco would ever dare curse the man standing in the doorway. No clumsy wand-light for _him_ - a globe of light hung above his left shoulder like a miniature moon, casting soft blue light on the rock walls and the contorted remains. Even its feeble illumination was enough to make his pale hair seem to glow.

"_Father_?"

* * *


	13. Chapter 7a

* * *

**7a.**

"Everyone stay calm." Lupin's magically-enhanced voice echoed around the packed hall, effectively silencing all the frightened chatter. "There's no immediate danger."

Harry listened to his calming words and believed none of them. _There's no immediate danger - so why does everyone have to be ready to 'leave at a moment's notice'? _

A boy had just been snatched from the middle of their 'safe place' - no wonder they were panicking.

"Are you sure you don't know who the woman was?" Harry knew he was irritating Livia with his questions, but he couldn't stop. Questions were all he had - if he stopped, it would be admitting defeat. _Malfoy's gone - and there's nothing I can do to get him back. _And that was…unacceptable.

Livia sighed. "I've told you - I don't know everyone here. She'll have come here the same way you did. Lupin gave out those notes to people he trusted, to be passed on to those who needed them."

"And Dra- Malfoy didn't know her?"

"Look, honey, I understand that you're worried about your friend, but I've told you all I can." She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "I'm sure he's all right."

Harry shook off her hand. "You don't need to lie to me. I'm not a kid."

"Fine." For a pretty girl, Livia had really hard eyes. Harry had never believed a healer could ever look quite so _mean_. "He was a traitor, right? He's probably being tortured or executed as we speak. Is that truth enough for you? Now, there are people here who _need _me, so if you'll excuse me…" She stalked away, leaving Harry to reflect on 'the truth'. She was right about everything - and he couldn't do a single thing about it.

All the spells he could do, all the hopes people had of him, and he was helpless - so fucking helpless. He slumped down on the sofa, and promptly jumped up again as he sat on something hard - something that released a familiar smell as it was disturbed.

The sea…

Harry dropped to his knees and tore open the rucksack with shaking fingers. A few hours ago the last thing he'd wanted to do was touch the black box - he'd even wrapped it in his father's cloak so that neither he or Malfoy had to touch it - but now he dragged it from the bag with his heart pounding.

The smell was stronger now - and he could hear the sounds of wind and rain and surf. As he opened the box he half-expected to feel the spray on his face.

"You led me to him before," he whispered. "Can you help me now?"

_Help… Help me… Help me… Help me…_

The voice was almost lost amongst the other sounds - it sounded as though it came from a great distance, whipped away by the wind. And Harry was standing on stone battlements, nearly being blown away by the storm raging around him. He peered through rain-splattered glasses at a small figure walking towards him. The wind tore at black robes and long white hair alike, forming strange shapes in the air.

_Beneath the cliff. Buried in stone._

These words weren't heard, but formed in his head. He reached out for the figure - and his hard-won sense of danger screamed out in protest. This was _wrong_… Cold fingertips touched his -

"Harry!" One blink and he was back in the hall, staring at the pieces of bone in the bottom of the box - through glasses streaked with water. Hermione pulled the box from his unresisting hands and snapped it shut. "What are you _doing_? You're soaked through!"

_Hermione's a good friend - but she does like to state the obvious. _Harry looked down at himself, his t-shirt and jeans clammily stuck to his body and a puddle of water forming on the floor beneath his knees. Then he looked at the windows and the last red and golden rays of perfect sunlight pouring through the glass.

Hermione sniffed the air, and her frown deepened. "Is that _sea water_?"

* * *

"The amount of magic built into this castle - into its very structure - has always fascinated me. It is impressive, don't you think?" Long pale fingers traced the outline of a glowing sigil. "Even if most of that magic would be considered 'Dark' in this day and age."

Draco watched his father intently. Something was wrong. _Something apart from the fact that he's actually talking to me? That's weird enough. I'm dead to him, right?_

"My interest is of course as much self-preservation as curiosity. It's not a very comfortable thing, to live in a place that seems to be alive. Hogwarts had its capricious little ways, but they were never quite so _malevolent_."

_But I'm not dead to Snape. _Draco felt the first flickers of anger as 'Lucius' looked at him, with a twisted smile that didn't fit well on that smooth, handsome face.

"The foundations of the castle - magical and physical - are only accessible to those of Malfoy blood and their retainers."

"And polyjuice is less humiliating than swearing a blood oath to my father?" Draco managed to keep his voice calm and his face expressionless, but the fingers holding his wand twitched. _He cursed me - cut me open. I could have died - but he's talking to me like nothing happened? _Bastard_._

"And safer, given Lucius' current state of mind."

Draco felt a sudden jolt of concern. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"If you and your father share any weakness, it's a tendency towards obsession. Obsessive love, obsessive hate - one's as dangerous as the other."

_Because of course _you _are so very detached about everything._

"You think he's going to move against the Dark Lord," Draco said, and it was a statement rather than a question.

One pale brow rose, and his father's face looked at him with an expression that was so very much Lucius _and _Snape that it made his head hurt. The two men were physically so different - it was so easy to forget how _alike _they were in so many essentials. "I think he already has." Draco opened his mouth to speak; Snape stopped him with a finger in the air and a glare that made him feel like he was back in the classroom. "It's only a suspicion. Lucius hasn't shared his plans with me."

_And I bet you _hate_ that. _"Irritating, isn't it?" Draco put on the sweetest smile he could manage. "Not being let in on plans that might affect you?" He met the glare full on, sure that Snape could see the amusement in his eyes. "Hoisted on your own petard. Life's a bitch, isn't it?" Lucius' pale eyes narrowed, hardening until they looked like chips of broken glass in the flickering light. It felt strangely liberating - Draco would never dream of speaking to his father like he did to Snape, but it was nice to pretend, even if it was just for a moment. "By the way, my back's healing. Just in case you were at all concerned."

Snape didn't even have the grace to look guilty. "The wound was shallow and clean," he said. "Any halfway-competent healer could have -"

"I didn't end up with a 'halfway-competent' healer!" Draco snapped, then took a deep breath. Losing his temper with Snape would have no more effect than it did with his father. "I got treated by _Muggles_." The last word came out as a hiss. Lucius' lips twisted into a smile.

"Unfortunate. But you seem to have survived the ordeal."

Draco stared at him, furious. For the first time in his life, words failed him. And for the first time in his life, he felt a kinship with Potter. _And that's just _wrong_, even if it is just both of us wanting to hex Snape._ "_Why?_" he said eventually.

"I was with the Dark Lord. I could hardly let two prisoners escape without even an attempt to stop them. And Sectumsempra is a suitably dramatic curse. An excessive amount of blood can convince anyone of the seriousness of your intent - you should know that."

"_I _was certainly convinced," Draco said weakly. He was rather impressed. That level of cold-blooded ruthlessness was something that, as yet, he could only aspire to. _But I'm learning it at the feet of the Master…_

"Also, the Order of the Phoenix is made up of idealists and bleeding-hearts," Snape sneered. Draco noted the bitterness in his voice and filed it away for future use. _Some history there…_ "I thought they'd be more likely to welcome you if you were presented to them as a victim rather than a turncoat."

"I'm not a _victim_, and I don't want anyone to think I am. I certainly don't want Potter to think -" Draco stopped himself there, and cursed his runaway mouth. He'd never noticed anything even approaching pity in the way Potter looked at him. _A hell of a lot of other things, though… _He checked that his mental shields were all in place, because Snape was suddenly looking _very_ interested. "I'm not a turncoat either, am I? I'm a spy - or that's the idea anyway."

"That _is_ the general idea." Snape turned away and began examining the nearest skeleton. The globe of light floated after him. "How effective a spy you'll be is yet to be seen, but I'm optimistic. The Dark Lord is too."

"I'm sure he is." The globe wasn't a stable light source - gases swirled within it, and the light it gave off flickered one moment, then pulsed the next. It was disorientating - the glistening walls seemed to move, in and out like a lungs taking in slow, regular breaths. Just an illusion created by the erratic light, of course - solid rock couldn't breathe - but it was eerie and unpleasant. "I'm sure you sold the idea to him very effectively."

Snape didn't respond, either to the comment or the insinuation behind it, but Draco decided that he would probably be smiling. _Smile away. I know I'll be working for you, not the Dark Lord, whatever he might think. _

"In all the time we've been here, you've shown no interest in the magic of your forefathers," Snape commented. Draco watched his long fingers stroke over the sigils. He heard the clink of a chain from further down the passageway and tried to pretend it was his over-active imagination. "You've complained about the castle, but never admired the ingenuity of those who built it."

Draco shrugged - then flinched as he felt something caress his cheek. He put his hand cautiously to his face; his fingers encountered nothing more threatening than a few strands of his own hair. "They were very clever," he said. "And very powerful." The passageway had to be open to the outside world somewhere, because he could feel a breeze blowing, the cool air raising goose-bumps on his bare skin. "And now they're all dead - fortunately."

"A lot of people are becoming nostalgic for that world - and the Old Ways."

Draco laughed. "The 'Good Old Days'," he intoned, putting on his best impression of his father and feeling mildly sacrilegious in doing so, "'when witches and wizards were as powerful as Gods!'"

"And as terrible as Monsters," Snape said. He turned back to Draco. The eyes were Lucius', but their expression was entirely Snape's - intense and questioning. "I know Lucius' views on the subject very well, but what about yours? Would you bring those days back if you could?"

Draco grinned. "It depends - do I get to be a God or a Monster? Or would I be one of the lowly retainers, trying not to get squashed by the all-powerful ones and running from mobs of Muggles with fiery torches?" Snape raised an eyebrow, and Draco shrugged. "Not all wizards were that powerful, not even then. The gap between strong and weak was just a hell of a lot larger. Much as I'd like to be a God -" he shrugged again "- I think we've got it better now."

"That's an interesting point of view from a Malfoy," Snape said quietly. The air seemed to be getting colder. Draco wrapped his arms around himself and tried not to look at the bones.

"One of my father's favourite mottos is 'first among equals' - I'd say that's be a lot more comfortable position to be in if your 'equals' don't have the power to destroy the world with a single spell."

"Interesting," Snape said again. Draco thought there was an element of pride in the way he looked at him, but he wasn't sure what Snape had to be proud about.

_It's just logical - who wants to have that kind of power if you never have time to enjoy it because you're constantly fighting your rivals? Maybe the ancient wizards enjoyed fighting, but it doesn't seem like much fun to me._

"I'm sure you didn't bring me here for a history lesson. Though you'd probably do a better job of it than boring old Binns."

"Unfortunately, this isn't history - not any more."

Draco frowned, trying to make some sense out of the comment. _Cryptic - even for Snape._

"Take care of the Saint Christopher - it will allow us to communicate, and will bring you to me whenever I need you."

"I'm to be kept on a nice tight leash, then," Draco said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "What if I decide I don't want to play?"

"Don't be childish, Draco." And _that _could easily have been his father speaking. "You don't need me to answer that."

"I suppose not." He could refuse to play - disobey the Dark Lord's command - and be punished. He could run away - and let his parents be punished. Or he could be a good little boy and do as he was told. "Was the old crone one of your spies, too?"

"Old crone?" Draco heard a suspicious little snort that could have been laughter. "You should see Skuld on a _bad _day. Her information has been passed on to the Dark Lord - with your name attached. He's pleased with you."

Draco wanted to ask why Snape needed _him_, when he seemed to have such effective spies already, but he contented himself with a sarcastic "oh, _good_." If Snape _was_ working against the Dark Lord, as he half-suspected, then he was probably going to use Draco's name on every little titbit of information, as a way to protect his other sources. _Which makes me feel _so_ much better… _

"He would have preferred something a little more specific than just a village and a street name, but he understands about the constraints of the Fidelius charm."

_Village and street name…oh _fuck.

"I think you should get back to - let's see, what was it? - 'School Lane, Heath' and warn them. Try to look like you've had a hard fight to escape - that always impresses people."

Draco stared at Snape for a moment, insults and swearwords lining themselves up in his head, begging to be used. He wanted to break something, and didn't understand why.

_Why the hell am I bothered? _The people back at the Schoolhouse could be divided into three camps - those Draco hated, those he disliked, and those he didn't know. He didn't care what happened to _any _of them.

The breeze became stronger, carrying with it the scent of the ocean - saltwater and rotting seaweed. It wasn't strong enough to move the bones, but the skeletons around him were moving anyway, their chains clinking as they arched away from the walls.

Snape looked at them. "Interesting," he murmured. "Well, what are you waiting for? From your state of undress I'd say I interrupted something sensitive - surely you're eager to get back?"

"_Bastard_." It wasn't the most witty or inventive of insults, but it was certainly heart-felt. Snape just looked at him, lips twisting in amusement. "You should ask Father if you can keep that look - it's far more flattering than your usual one."

With that parting shot - not vindictive enough by half, if Snape's smirk was anything to go by - Draco spun on his heel and ran, following the smell of the sea.

* * *


	14. Chapter 7b

**7b.**

The sky seemed finally to have picked up on the dark events happening on the world below it. As the evening drew in, the glorious sunlight was dying, the bright sky was darkening, and a cold mist was creeping across the fields and through the trees. Shrouded by the mist, the last rays of what should have been a glorious sunset looked like a fire smouldering along the horizon.

Harry shivered and pulled his borrowed cloak closer around him. The mist seemed to have the ability to sink through clothes and skin and flesh, chilling him from the bones out. It was also getting thicker by the minute - the lane beyond the railings was already a no-man's land of deep shadows and shifting tendrils of fog. Perfect cover for Death Eaters, if indeed there were any out there.

He tensed up as an eerie glow lit up one patch of mist - then relaxed as a car appeared, driving slowly past the school gate. The fog diffused the beam from its headlights, spreading warm light throughout the dark lane, and the low growl of its engine was a comforting sound of life. Harry was sorry when it passed, and the world returned to gloom and silence.

Looking around him, he saw the dim shapes of other sentries spread about the playground. None of them were speaking to the others. It was as if the fog was like a pillow pressed down over the whole village - not just dulling colours and muffling sound, but suffocating the life out of all of them. Even though he knew the others were there, Harry felt alone, and the melancholic atmosphere of the old playground hit him even more acutely.

He was walking through the playground, alone, long after the other children had departed in their little giggling groups…

_Snap out of it! _Harry shook his head, trying to dislodge the memory. _It's just a bit of mist. _He'd volunteered to take his turn as a look-out - he had to concentrate on that.

He had been staring into the lane, watching carefully for any sign of activity, for about five minutes, before his mind drifted off again. This time it brought up an image from his dreams - Malfoy writhing on the floor in agony - and mixed it with memories from the Ministry. Screams echoed down empty corridors -

_You did that to him. So convinced you were doing the right thing, and now he's suffering or dead…_

Harry swore loudly and at length. He couldn't afford to think about Malfoy now, and he refused to feel guilty for just trying to help. Besides - he was going to find him. He didn't quite know how, but he wasn't going to just shrug and write Malfoy off - or mourn him as if he was dead. Both of those were giving up, and while Harry might accept, intellectually at least, that sometimes you had to admit defeat, he couldn't do it. Maybe after Hermione and Hestia had finished checking the box for curses -

Something was in the lane, something large and dark, gliding through the mist as if it was made of mist itself. Harry was already cold to the bone, but now he felt as if there were ice crystals forming in his blood, freezing arteries and veins, seizing up muscles - rooting him to the spot.

_No!_ He forced himself to move, to pull out his wand. The playground was full of the dark figures, drifting with the fog. It should have been hard to dredge up happy memories after letting himself wallow in the unhappy ones, but one jumped into his head, all shiny and new - thin arms wrapped around him so tightly he could hardly breathe, his fingers sliding off hospital robes onto smooth, hot skin, worry disintegrating, changing into relief, relief changing into a jolt of happiness strong enough to -

Other people got there first - he could hear "_Expecto Patronum_!" being shouted out all over the playground - but Harry's Patronus burst free of his wand with a flash of light that almost blinded him and lit up the fog even more powerfully than the car headlights. He stood in amongst glowing whiteness, aware of dark shapes retreating all around him, but eyes fixed on the stag, the happiest moments of his life in physical form, glowing so brightly it hurt to look at it.

"Fight." He didn't know why he said it - his Patronus certainly needed no instruction in doing just that, and as for Harry himself… _I've never felt less like admitting defeat in my _life…

* * *

Draco was already wet, cold and angry. The tide had been in when he'd reached the beach, and he'd had to wade out to reach the edge of the wards, only to find that the currents were strong enough to sweep him off his feet. Two dunkings and a hard swim later, he was cursing Snape - and Potter and the Dark Lord and his father and the world in general. His mood wasn't improved when he Apparated into the playground.

_A battle - great. Well, food, fresh clothes and a warm bed would be a better welcome, but I don't have that kind of luck…_

If it was a battle, it was a strange one. Thick mist surrounded him, shrouding most of the action from view, but he could hear spells being cast, and see shapes moving in the mist - silvery forms darting about, moving with the grace and agility of animals, and dark shadows retreating before them.

Battle or not, if his current run of luck held true, he would soon be right in the middle of it. Draco sighed and drew his wand.

He didn't want to fight. His back hurt, and he didn't feel like he'd slept for about a week.

_Fuck fighting. Find Potter, and go to bed._

And that thought, he decided, proved he was tried - Potter and bed in the same sentence? He wasn't just tired - he was _sick_.

Draco didn't think anything could make him colder than being dunked in the Atlantic, but the mist was managing it. The cold felt like it was creeping up from his insides, which up until that moment had been kept nice and warm by his anger. But the anger was fading, blotted out by the cold, and the mist was _inside_ him -

Fog rippled in front of him like the folds of a curtain, parting around a figure that was definitely not made from the mist, however smoothly it glided forwards.

"Impedimenta!"

Black robes shivered as the spell passed through them, but the creature itself didn't even flinch. The sounds of battle were gone; all Draco could hear was the sound of his own blood thundering in his ears.

"Sectumsempra!"

Fabric fluttered apart. Draco saw greyish goo oozing out of glistening, scabby skin. He'd put all his power behind that curse, and barely left a scratch - a scratch that was already crusting over. The Dementor reached out a hand; Draco took a couple of hasty steps backwards, and bumped up against something in the mist, something that swung back then cracked into his calves. He stumbled, and caught hold of the nearest thing to stop himself falling.

A chain - he was holding a chain. The links were rough and rusty beneath his fingers. Too rusty to clink together - but that was what he could hear…

_No. _He wasn't going to think about that. He knew that place, and he wasn't going to be forced back there.

The Dementor stopped in front of him. There was a tiny part of his brain not consumed by fog and the sound of chains scraping across stone, and it was frantically running through his options. He couldn't run - every rattling breath the thing took seemed so suck more strength from his body - and he could hardly expect to talk his way out. He knew spells to tear flesh apart, to strip off skin and rip out entrails - but how useful would they be against a creature that could shrug off Sectumsempra?

Soon after Draco and Snape had first arrived at the castle, Bellatrix had acquired - or probably created - a cadaver, and kept it in the Great Hall, playing with it like a puppet. It had been three days before the Dark Lord had become bored of her antics and ordered her to dispose of it. Three days… Draco still remembered how it had looked - and how it had smelt. He imagined the Dementor as looking just like that, under its voluminous robes - and his stomach flipped.

_And I actually used to make fun of Potter for being scared of these things…_

Cold fingers closed around his face. He could feel the oozing scabs on the thing's fingertips as it forced his head back, see the cloth in front of its face ripple as it drew in another breath, and, yes, it did smell like Bellatrix's toy. But the voice he heard growling in his head didn't belong to the Dementor - _"Guess it's my lucky day…"_

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_"

The most powerful one-to-one curse known, and it couldn't cut off the voice in his head. His scream seemed as if it should ring out for miles, and the green flash lit up the fog around them, but the fog in his head was suffocating, and the voice relentless.

"_Please fight - it'll make me _very _happy…"_

* * *

There were more people around him now - reinforcements from inside the Schoolhouse. The mist turned every witch and wizard into a featureless shadow, but every Patronus was unique. A silver falcon soared past Harry's stag, so bright and quick it left a trail of light in the fog. Ron was out there somewhere - Harry was sure he'd seen a Jack Russell terrier snapping at the robes of a retreating Dementor.

And they _were_ retreating - all of them. _Pathetic. So big and frightening, but they're just scavengers really. Can't stand their prey fighting back._

Silence had fallen over the playground; everyone who could had conjured up their Patronus and now all that could be done was watch as the ghostly animals drove the Dementors remorselessly back. It was so quiet that Harry could hear the throbbing of his own blood in his ears. So quiet that when the shout rang out through the fog, he could hear every syllable of the Killing Curse - and the fear and desperation behind it.

And he recognised the voice.

The sudden jump of Harry's heart seemed to feed his Patronus; the phantom stag seemed to get even bigger and brighter as it charged off into the mist.

Other people were turning in the direction of the shout, but Harry was already moving, running after the stag, following the glow of it through the mist. Let the others dither. They might be torn between going to help someone obviously in trouble and not wanting to help someone who would use an Unforgivable, but Harry had no such problem.

Even if he was rapidly deciding that he didn't actually _know _Malfoy at all, he was certain the only way the words Avada Kedavra would ever pass his lips would be as a last resort.

_When there's no other way out… which means I could already be too late…_

_No!_

He burst into a patch of air that was clearer, and saw his Patronus attacking a Dementor with even more aggression than usual. The foul creature wasn't retreating like the others - it was obviously reluctant to give up its food. That thought made Harry look for Malfoy. _It would leave if it had already sucked out his soul, wouldn't it? He's not -_

A small bright form rushed past his feet. If it had been a flesh-and-blood dog it would have been yapping furiously - as a Patronus, it showed its excitement by enthusiastically joining in the fight.

Malfoy was slumped on one of the old swings, clinging on to the chain as if his life depended on it. His wand was in his hand, but it kept moving, pointed first at the Dementor, then at the stag, then at the Jack Russell, as if he didn't know which was the biggest threat. Harry made an involuntary movement, and the wand whipped round to point at _him_.

Malfoy's skin seemed to reflect the light from the Patronuses, until he looked as much a creature of light and air and mist as they were, but as Harry stepped forward, he saw scratches and bruises on that pale skin, and looked into eyes that were wide and haunted, stripped of all their usual layers of cynicism and malice.

For a moment, Harry faltered. He knew what _he _wanted to do and say - and knew all of it would be unwelcome, however shell-shocked Malfoy looked. At any other time he thought he'd be tempted to just go for it - to just hug Malfoy tight and enjoy the explosion. But now…

He grinned. "And the life-saving tally now stands at 3-2 - to me. You're losing your touch."

Malfoy blinked. His eyes narrowed. "Where do you get _three _from?"

"The Manor, the Hospital, and now." Harry felt his grin widen until it almost hurt. When Malfoy pulled a face at him and he saw the old glint back in the other boy's eyes, he felt an odd warmth spread inside him, and the air felt suddenly lighter and cleaner. A quick glance over his shoulder showed the Dementor in full retreat, the two Patronuses happily pursuing it.

"One, you didn't save my life at the Manor - you put it in danger. Two, my life wasn't in danger at the hospital." Harry laughed and got an offended glare.

"You thought it was," he said. Since Malfoy didn't look like he was going to stand up any time soon, Harry dropped to his knees. _Always better to do your fighting face to face._

"What I _thought_ doesn't count." Malfoy raised his head, and for once Harry didn't want to inflict violence on that snooty expression. He beamed at Malfoy - to his delight, it seemed to make him even angrier. "Up until now, I've been happily ignorant of Muggle healing methods. I hope to return to that blessed state in the future."

"You were so relieved to see me, you hugged me," Harry said calmly. _And it looks like I got a fantastic Patronus out of that memory, so thank you. Why _he'd created such a good Patronus from that memory he didn't know - but it was probably something that he shouldn't think too hard about.

"I'm never going to be allowed to fucking forget that, am I?"

"Never," Harry said, watching a couple of droplets of water run down Malfoy's neck. He was soaked through - even his hair was slick to his head, and Harry felt cold, water-sodden denim scratch at his skin as he rested his hands on the edges of the seat. "You bait me all the time. I have to have _something _to use in retaliation." Malfoy stared at him, and Harry realised the position he'd unintentionally put them in. It was like a twisted mirror image of the last time they'd spoken - Harry leaning forward, Malfoy drawing back.

Harry's conscience was bleating on about _invasion of personal space _and _unwelcome physical contact_. He blithely ignored it. Malfoy hadn't given any thought to things like that when it'd had been the other way around. He moved forward, and got a stab of vicious satisfaction as Malfoy nearly fell off the swing.

But then Harry started to feel uncomfortable. Satisfaction at turning the tables couldn't account for the tightness in his chest and throat, or the way his heart seemed to be trying to burst through his ribcage. He stared at the tangled ribbons of wet hair clinging to Malfoy's neck and shoulders, and tried to ignore the heat surging though his body, pooling in his head and - shamefully, _horrifyingly _- his dick.

Then the swing shifted beneath his hands as Malfoy slid forward on it. They were suddenly nose-to-nose, and Harry couldn't retreat because Malfoy had a handful of his t-shirt. Not that he wanted to. He was staring into enormous grey eyes, and if eyes were truly windows to the soul, then all Malfoy had in there was malice. Warm breath slid over his lips as Malfoy spoke, and Harry breathed it in. "But it's no fun if you can fight back." One inch…just one inch closer and that humiliating ache in his crotch would be the _least _of his worries…

Whatever evil spell they'd managed to work up between them, it was easily broken. The sound of footsteps behind him had Harry frantically pulling away, almost strangling himself on his t-shirt before Malfoy decided to let it go. He sprawled on the broken paving, cursing both Malfoy and whatever twisted part of himself had prompted _that_.

"You came back, then." Ron's voice was hard. When Harry looked up, he saw that the expression on his face was no more welcoming. _Well, of course - Ron hates Malfoy more than I ever have. _

But Ron was essentially a fair bloke. _If Malfoy can just unbend a little - treat Ron with a little respect -_

"Apparently," Malfoy drawled as he stood up. "I do apologise, Weasley. Does my presence cramp your style?" He shot an appraising glance at Harry. "I never did know whose pants you were trying to get into at school - innocent thing I am, I always thought it was Granger's."

Harry shot to his feet, not sure whether to hold Ron back or join him in pounding seven types of shit out of Malfoy.

He didn't get the chance to do either - Malfoy turned his back on both of them. "Just in time to die with you all," he said. "Wonderful."

Ron scowled. "What are you talking about? We just wiped the floor with those Dementors - or were you too busy playing damsel in distress to notice?"

Malfoy spun around. Harry had never seen him look so angry, but his voice was icy as he spoke to Ron. "Do you really think that's _it_? One skirmish and it's all over? Just like that? Have you ever, in your no-doubt extensive studies of the art of war, come across the term 'feint'? Or 'reconnaissance in force'? Somewhere out there -" He waved his arm so dramatically that Harry had to duck. "- is a very clever man. _He_ can't see you - Fidelius Charm, right? - but Dementors have no human senses to be fooled. One little attack in which he lost _none _of his forces, and now he knows _exactly _where you are!"

Harry looked around, cursing the fog. He could just pick out the outlines of the railings, and the dark shapes of the Dementors against them, kept at bay by patrolling Patronuses. Malfoy sniffed. "The fog's probably his doing, too. That's a tactic called 'concealment', Weasley, if you want to look it up." Ron glared at him. "You don't believe me? Fine." He waved his wand, but other people had already had the same idea; gusts of wind were suddenly coming from all directions, moving apart the mist.

The winds did more than just break up the mist; they carried with them a smell a lot more unpleasant than the sea-water scent that clung to Malfoy.

Rotting flesh.

Through the few scattered remnants of the mist, Harry could see the people he'd just been fighting alongside. All of them were standing and staring, a few of them with wands already pointed, into the lane, at the sight revealed by the last few rays of the setting sun.

Inferi - too many of them to count - were packed up against the school yard walls in a great seething mass. Some of them stretched their arms through the railings. Ron glared at Malfoy as if he'd put them there personally, just to spite him. Malfoy just wrapped his arms around himself; Harry was struck by how tired he looked - tired, wet, battered, and _incredibly_ pissed off.

"I hate being right all the time," he said. "Anyone for Round Two?"

* * *


	15. Chapter 8a

A/N - the battle _is _coming - this chapter just became too long and got split up. ;) x

* * *

**8a.**

Draco closed his eyes and leaned back into the soft embrace of the armchair. He still hadn't had any sleep - unless he counted that half-hour dozing in the corner of a deserted classroom. _And I don't. _Potter had found him and shook him awake, prattling on about 'helping with the evacuation' - and that 'helping' had turned out to be lugging bags about, breaking up squabbles and trying to explain why people could only Apparate out two or three at a time when he really didn't know himself. All in all, just another thing to enter on his mental list of 'reasons why Harry Potter is a complete and utter git and must die for the good of wizard kind'.

"Are you still with me?" Lupin said, and Draco thought he heard a hint of amusement in his voice. Perhaps he needed to start a new list for Lupin.

"No," he said, not opening his eyes. The armchair was too comfortable… "Piss off and let me sleep for a few days."

"This won't take long, I promise." Draco heard the clink of glass on the table in front of him and cautiously opened one eye. He looked at the tiny vial of clear liquid sitting next to the tea service and shut his eyes again.

_So, this is it. We're about to test just how much of Snape's training I actually took in._ He'd guessed as much from the moment Lupin had pulled him aside in the hall.

"We're besieged by a horde of Dark Creatures and you've got time to interrogate me? I'm impressed."

"As I said, it won't take long, and I'm sure it'll prove to be a formality." Draco heard the rattle of cups and forced himself to look at Lupin. He was pouring out tea, but he wasn't paying any attention to the task - instead, his eyes were fixed on Draco. "Provided you've been telling us the truth." Draco met his steady, disconcertingly intelligent gaze and felt the first twinge of unease.

His Veritaserum sessions with Snape had been a nightmare. Naturally averse to telling the straight truth on a deep, almost visceral level, Draco had been left feeling exposed and violated. _I'll take Cruciatus over Veritaserum any day. _And that was with someone who, theoretically at least, was on his side. Lupin wasn't.

"Tea?"

Draco looked at the unappetising green brew and shook his head.

"Are you sure? Veritaserum doesn't taste very nice."

"And that stuff does?"

Lupin took a sip of his tea and grimaced. "Not really, but it's Hestia's own special blend. It'd certainly wake you up. In fact, too much of it and you'll never want to sleep again." He smiled. To his horror, Draco found himself smiling back.

"Give me that," he snapped, and snatched up the vial. He swallowed the potion neat, aware of Lupin watching with a bemused look on his face.

"You know, I wasn't lying about this only taking a few minutes. I only intended you to take a few drops." Lupin smiled again, and this time Draco was definitely _not_ smiling back. "It looks like you'll be having a very _honest _morning."

The first thing Draco had ever learnt about Veritaserum was that it turned all the rules of interrogation - and the common strategies for resisting - on their head. You couldn't refuse to answer a question, and you couldn't lie - which didn't leave many options. But there _were_ options.

_Option one - try to take control of the conversation_.

"Ok - you want this to be quick - _fine_. I didn't help Potter out of the goodness of my heart. I want the Dark Lord _dead_. And I'm not working for him." Draco's tongue didn't even trip over the last line, and he was surprised. Up until that moment he hadn't realised how totally he believed it. "That's all you need to know, isn't it?"

Lupin twisted his cup around on its saucer. "Why _did _you help Harry?"

"Because I didn't want him dead." Draco felt the Veritaserum driving him to say more, to clarify, and bit his tongue. Then he gave in, because it would just keep pushing him until he broke anyway. He could almost hear Snape's voice in his head. _You have to talk, and you have to tell the truth - it just doesn't have to be the truth they want to hear._ "I sometimes _think _I do, but there's a big difference between having a few pleasant fantasies and actually making it happen. Potter's not that bad really."

Lupin raised an eyebrow, and Draco fought the impulse to bang his head on his table. _I didn't just say that - it was just my imagination. Or I've just hit upon some new, until now unknown, way of lying under Veritaserum. Or - _"Really?" Lupin said quietly. _And that'd better not be a smirk on his face…_

Draco looked down at his hands. His fingers were wound together so tightly that they hurt. "If that's a real question, could you please clarify? Because I don't know how to answer it, and the Veritaserum's making my head hurt."

"I'm sorry. Why do you hate Voldemort?"

"He's humiliating my father, threatening my mother, destroying my family - isn't that enough?" Draco was quite proud of that answer - it _was _the whole truth. He didn't have to refer to his own suffering at all - it was covered by two of the above. _Fuck - I'm good._

Lupin nodded, sat back in his chair and took a sip of his tea. Then he looked at Draco calmly and said "so, when were you bitten?"

The pride disintegrated. Lupin had been going easy on him, his questions purposely designed to give Draco wriggle room, to make him complacent…and while Draco's brain was coming to terms with that ego-puncturing realisation, his mouth was moving. "The 20th," he whispered. Lupin showed no signs of triumph; he put down his cup and leaned forwards, and the sadness and pity in his eyes made Draco want to curl up and hide.

He managed not to do anything so humiliating; he just looked down at his hands and tried to remember how to breathe. "I suppose you smelt it on me."

"Ah, the legendary werewolf senses," Lupin said, and the humour in his voice was tainted by bitterness. "Overrated, I'm afraid - at least for most of the month. I wondered, but I wasn't sure until I saw the scar on your shoulder. Werewolf bites never heal correctly." There was a sudden silence, and Draco felt as if he was under close scrutiny. "It wasn't a random attack, was it? Because you seem to be very good at defending yourself."

There wasn't any point to resisting the Veritaserum anymore, but… he felt that if he spoke the words out loud, told Lupin the gory details, then somehow the whole thing would become more _real_. Besides, Lupin was the same as Greyback - he'd probably enjoy the story too much. "It wasn't random," Draco said, and that was the only response the question needed.

He concentrated on his hands, carefully noting the damage that he still had to get fixed - bruising on one palm, grazes on his knuckles and across the back of his hand. The room seemed to be getting smaller, and the air stuffier.

"Who was it?"

And _that _didn't need much of an answer either. "Fenrir Greyback."

"Ah." More silence, then a shadow fell over him and he felt Lupin's hand on his shoulder. "He's responsible for my condition too."

"Don't touch me!" Draco stumbled to his feet, tiredness forgotten in a sudden blind rush of panic. _What the fuck am I _doing_? I put myself alone with a _werewolf_ - what was I thinking? _The room was definitely shrinking. "I haven't got a _condition_! The infection might not have taken. I'm not like _you_." He backed up to the door. Lupin didn't move - just looked at him with sad, sympathetic eyes - but he was still too close.

"Really?" Lupin said mildly. "If you can say that under Veritaserum you must really be in denial."

* * *

Harry wasn't intentionally listening. He'd just gone to look for Lupin and found a firmly-shut door with voices coming from behind it. One voice soft, the other raised in anger.

He hesitated for a moment, but he was only human. He pressed his ear to the wood…

"You have no fucking idea what I've got to be in denial about!"

The door swung inwards with such force that Harry fell forwards. The time he and Malfoy spent untangling themselves was probably measured in seconds, but the way Harry's senses insisted on cataloguing every little detail - from the softness of the hair caught in his fingers, to the hard angles of Malfoy's body, the harsh rasp of his breath and the naked panic in his eyes - made it seem to drag out for hours. Until Malfoy gave him a hefty shove that sent him crashing into the door frame.

"What -?"

"For once, just fucking _leave me alone_!"

_As if I'm _ever _capable of doing _that_. He's angry and frightened and in pain - I can't just let him -_

"Let him be, Harry," Lupin said, and Malfoy shot him a look of pure loathing before striding off. "He's got a lot to think about."

"What did you _do_ to him?" Lupin looked at him sadly, and Harry realised just how accusing those words had sounded. "I'm sorry. I -"

Lupin smiled. "No offence taken." He walked back over to the table and poured himself another cup of tea. Perfectly calm, perfectly casual - but when he looked over his shoulder at Harry, it was with a curious expression in his eyes. "You're very protective of him, aren't you?"

Harry felt as though invisible fingers were squeezing at his stomach, twisting in into a knot, but he met Lupin's gaze as calmly as if could. _Don't know what he's implying, but - _He shrugged. "I got him into all this."

"Oh? That's not what I've been told." Lupin stirred his tea and smiled. "You two need to get your stories straight - or at least make sure they match up."

If Lupin thought that Harry and Malfoy were somehow conspiring together against the Order, he didn't seem too concerned about it. Harry walked over to the window, looking out while he decided what to say. Malfoy was complicated enough to keep his head hurting forever - the last thing Harry needed was for Lupin to go all enigmatic on him too.

He looked out into the playground. There were more people out there than there were Patronuses patrolling the walls. Most of them were huddled in little groups, talking and watching the Inferi.

The arrival of dawn should have taken away some of the horror and fear, banishing the shadows that shrouded the enemy and made them the stuff of nightmares, but the Inferi were even more horrifying in the cool dawn light. It showed details - to the point of being able to tell how some of the Inferi had died - and faces, some of which Harry recognised from the fight at the Ministry.

"Why haven't they attacked yet?"

"I don't know for certain," Lupin said. "I can't read minds."

"But you've got an idea."

"I've got a few ideas - I just don't know if any of them are right." Harry felt warmth at his shoulder as Lupin came to stand beside him, and smelt the bitter scent of the tea. "Do the Inferi horrify you?"

Harry tried to sound confident. "They're horrible, but they're easy enough to drive away with fire."

"That's not what I asked. All of us here know how to fight Inferi - in theory at least." Confused, Harry looked at Lupin, but his sad, thoughtful expression gave him no clues. "But these Inferi are the corpses of those vanquished in the recent battles. Do you think there's anyone here who hasn't lost _someone _in the past couple of days? And so many people are missing…"

Lupin looked down at his tea; it should've needed no more stirring, but he moved the spoon around anyway. Harry wanted to ask about Tonks, but knew that he would have been told if there had been any news. He felt sick. Perhaps the news, when it came, would be the sight of her corpse amongst the army sent to destroy them. _And if that thought horrifies _me_, what must Lupin be going through?_

Harry tentatively put his hand on Lupin's shoulder.

The moment was broken by the door cracking open again. Not Malfoy, this time, but two enormous trunks, floating in mid-air. One trunk cracked against the other, and Harry heard Fred Weasley's voice raised in mock outrage.

"Right, that's it! This means war!"

"You're on!"

The trunks slammed up against each other. As Harry and Lupin watched the odd duel, Fred and George wandered in through the door, bickering amicably.

"A-ha - you _cheat_!"

"Just give in! Bow down to my mastery of trunk warfare!"

"Never! Your trunk won't take mine alive!"

Lupin coughed. The twins stopped their game and beamed at Harry, who grinned back.

"This is a really bad time to be moving in," he said.

"As the virgin said to the necromancer."

"Bet you can't remember the beginning of that joke."

"It's funnier out of context anyway."

"It isn't! Anyway, we bring _provisions_."

"Just what you ordered, Remus. We've been doing some research and -"

"Do you mind if we continue our conversation later, Harry? I've got some things to discuss with Fred and George."

Harry was eager to see the twins' idea of 'provisions' - he was certain it wouldn't involve food and drink or fresh clothes - but he didn't argue.

_Good little soldier_… The little inner voice was mocking, and sounded more like Malfoy every day; Harry ignored it. Not acting like a spoilt child wasn't being a 'good little soldier'.

As he walked down the corridor, he heard a shouted hex, and the sound of wood splintering. His heart was pounding as he ran towards the hall door. Could Death Eaters have got through the Schoolhouse security? One had certainly managed it before…

As he burst through the door, he was hit by a sense of déjà vu. Oh, they were in a hall full of furniture rather than a deserted suburban street, but Malfoy's fighting stance, and the way he silently deflected spell after spell, took Harry right back to Privet Drive. The only difference was that it was Ron attacking him, not Harry…and this time, Malfoy was perfectly happy to fight back…

Two slashes of his wand and Ron was down, wand clattering across the floorboards.

Whatever Malfoy had said to Ron to start the fight, that was the end of it - or it should have been.

Malfoy's wand remained trained on Ron. Harry was reaching for his wand even before he heard "Cruc-"

"Expelliarmus!"

The air between them rippled like a heat haze as Harry's spell hit a powerful shield charm. Malfoy glared at him through it, and Harry felt a guilty trickle of excitement mix in with his anger. He had to remind himself that he was just protecting Ron - not challenging Malfoy to a duel.

"Why do you always have to stick your nose into everything, Potter?" Malfoy said, and if Harry hadn't been able to see his expression that would have almost sounded pleasant. "This is nothing to do with you."

"It is when you try to use an Unforgivable on my best friend." Harry took his cues from Malfoy, holding down his anger and making his voice calm but hard. "I don't want to fight you. Just apologise to Ron and we can all forget about this."

"That's it - good old Potter - always jumping to conclusions! Ever think that, just maybe, _he _should be apologising to _me_?"

"Everything I said was true!"

"By whose definition? Lying journalists and vicious old gossips like your mother?"

Harry heard Ron scrambling to his feet, but he kept his eyes on Malfoy. "Take that back." The anger was pounding through his body like a second heart beat. But so was the excitement. Harry looked along his wand at eyes that were bright and fierce, lit from within by a cocktail of anger, pain and spite, and at a wide mouth twisting into a sneer. If he was also looking at soft white skin stretched taut over sharp bones, and the proud tilt of Malfoy's chin, it didn't matter - the anger and excitement were like a chorus in his head, a group of children gathered around a playground scrap shouting 'fight, fight, fight!'

"Make me."

_I could wipe that sneer off his face -_

Harry tensed. His brain was already selecting spells, but he didn't cast any of them.

Malfoy scowled. "Come on, Potter - what are you waiting for? I'm actually giving you an excuse to fight - and it's not as if you've ever needed an excuse before!"

It would be so _good_. Both of them were tense and wound up - they could blow off a little steam, and finally find out which of them was better. Malfoy certainly wanted it. And it was that thought that stopped Harry, planted a germ of awkwardness in his head and made him lower his wand.

* * *

"Ask nicely," Potter said, and actually smiled at him.

_Stupid fucking Potter - always fucking ruining everything…_

Draco was tempted to hex him anyway, just to teach him a lesson. _I'll show him what happens when he drops his guard like that - what does he think this is, a fucking _game_?_

Then the choice was taken out of his hands, because Potter stepped forward, catching hold of his wand. The very fact that Draco let him, and remained standing there with him, chest to chest, gazes locked together, spoke volumes to him about his state of mind.

_I'm sick - and I'm developing a severe case of masochism._

Potter's eyes were challenging him to do something. _But, of course, it _is _a game…_ And if the object of the game was to see which of them could make the other more uncomfortable, Potter was currently winning hands down.

It was sickening. Draco wasn't the one with the ridiculous crush, so why couldn't he just break the gaze and look away? He wanted to hex Potter, not stare into his stupid green eyes…

Beautiful eyes, though - if he ignored the face they were set in. So wide and clear and honest…_he really shouldn't try to play mind games when his eyes are so easy to read_. Draco saw panic and excitement flare in them as he tilted his head forward. His lips almost brushed Potter's as he spoke, loud enough for Weasley to hear. "Now now, lover - not in front of Weasley." Potter flushed and jerked his head back. _And he shouldn't play if he's not ready for me to raise the stakes… _"And hands off the wand."

Potter swore and wrenched his hand away. Draco watched what looked like smoke drifting from Potter's palm as he clutched his injured hand to his chest, and silently blessed his mother for teaching him that curse. _Funny, but when she said there would be impolite people trying to grab my wand, I took it in completely the wrong way. Dirty fourteen-year-old mind… _

Potter's glare was familiar and comfortable - and if it was an odd state of affairs when Draco was actually happy to see someone looking at him as if they wanted to murder him, he chose not to think about it. _Potter hates me - all is right with the world._

"I'll be waiting for your apology, Weasley," he said as he turned to leave. Then something terrible happened. He was just mustering up a mocking grin for Potter when he felt it - an overwhelming compulsion to explain, to set the story straight before Potter got the rumours-and-lies version from Weasley. "My family don't kill our children. Why would we? Girls don't survive to puberty in my family because we're under a curse - a curse we've been trying to defeat for centuries."

Both Potter and Weasley were staring at him, open-mouthed, and Draco cursed the inventor of Veritaserum. Who knew it could work like that? Potter hadn't even asked him a question, but Draco was talking to him as if he actually cared about his opinion. "So think twice before you start throwing old lies about, Weasley - not only are you showing your arse, you're talking out of it too."

Potter looked at Weasley, who glared at him. "Fuck him. He said my mother would be happy to have one less mouth to feed." Potter caught hold of his friend's arm, and Draco turned away, because he was damned if he was going to watch them having a bonding session. _And Weasley looks like he wants to cry. _As he walked away, Weasley's hoarse voice seemed to follow him across the room. "I've seen Percy. He's out there - in the lane."

* * *


	16. Chapter 8b

A/N - quick update - will try to get some more out in the next couple of days! x

* * *

**8b**

Harry leaned against the wall, feeling the roughness of the bricks through his t-shirt. The sunlight was pleasantly warm against his face, and he closed his eyes, trying to imagine himself somewhere far away, in a place where no one was getting hurt, and everyone would have the chance to enjoy the glorious day.

Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or for once it was him, not Ron, that had 'the emotional range of a teaspoon' - and the memory of Hermione saying that, and the look on her face as she did, still made him smile - but he felt curiously detached from the world. Ron, George and Fred were grieving over their brother, all fights with him forgotten and forgiven; Lupin was stressed and tired, drinking enormous amounts of herbal tea to give himself the energy to worry more; Hermione was red-eyed and quiet, carrying around the black box like it was a talisman against evil instead of quite possibly an evil thing itself; Malfoy had taken himself off to brood; the air inside the Schoolhouse seemed thick with fear and grief - and Harry stood out in the sun and tried to feel something - _anything_.

"What cannot die, cannot live."

Harry opened his eyes. As he blinked at Hermione in puzzlement, she managed a smile for him.

"That's what it says on the box." She held out the box for his inspection. Harry looked at it, but even if he squinted, the carvings still looked more like abstract symbols than words. "In Latin, Greek, Old French and what seems to be Old Cornish. A lot of the letters have been worn away, but I used a translation spell on it and it picked up just enough to show that it's the same phrase, repeated again and again. Someone wanted it to be read."

"That's a lot of trouble to go to for a cheesy proverb. Are you sure it doesn't say 'do not open this box - ever'?" Harry realised that he was staring at the box as if it was going to leap out of Hermione's hands and start snapping at him; he forced himself to relax. It was just a box. It didn't even give him the same sensations of dread as it had before - the surface looked curiously touchable… He put his hands behind his back.

Hermione looked out towards the lane. "What cannot die, cannot live," she repeated softly. "Remind you of anyone? It's much too old to have been written about Voldemort, but it's an interesting coincidence, isn't it?" Her fingers stroked over the carvings, and for a split second Harry caught the scent of the sea.

"Hermione, please -" Then it was gone, and he was left wondering what to say as Hermione looked at him in puzzlement. _Please be careful_, he wanted to say, but she'd have every right to be insulted by that. Knowing Hermione, she was probably taking every precaution against curses and Influence of all kinds. _So why do I feel so uneasy about her even handling it? _"How's Ron?" he said lamely, and her eyes narrowed.

"Ron's fine. Ron's so fine he's felt the need to tell me so at least seven times."

"In other words, he's not fine at all."

"He doesn't want to talk about it," Hermione said. To anyone else, her tone might have sounded merely exasperated, but Harry knew her well enough to hear the concern. "Until he does -" she hugged the box to her "- I'll keep doing something _useful_."

Any reply he might have made was cut off by a strange hissing, crackling sound. The warm sunlight was replaced by shadow, blotted out by a swirling dark cloud that twisted in the air, then collapsed liked a wave breaking against the shore - directly over the Schoolhouse.

Harry barely had time to register that the sound was the beating of thousands of little wings, or that the 'cloud' was a swarm of tiny creatures, before he pulled out his wand and threw up a shield around both of them.

Whatever the creatures were, they moved with the speed and force as bullets. As Harry gritted his teeth and concentrated on keeping the shield charm solid and stable - because _Protego _was really not designed for situations like that - the miniscule attackers pinged off it. A window smashed just a few feet away from him, and little puffs of brick dust were blown out into the air as some of the creatures slammed into the wall. They looked and moved like insects, but real insects would have been splattered over the bricks, not burying deep into them.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The swarm gathered together and retreated upwards, a battleship-grey cloud in an otherwise perfect blue sky.

Harry took a deep breath and looked around him.

The attack had only lasted a couple of minutes, but it left chaos and destruction in its wake. The Schoolhouse looked like it had been sprayed down by machine-gun fire, windows smashed and deep pock-marks left in its brickwork. Some people - too slow or just unlucky - were down. Harry's gaze flicked over the bodies on the playground's broken paving. He was vaguely disturbed by the fact he could tell none of them were dead or seriously injured with just one glance - surely he hadn't seen _that _many dead and injured people in his life? _Though the numbers have certainly been going up these past couple of days…_

He looked at the Inferi still squirming against the walls, and the Dementors that had taken advantage of the distraction to advance back into the playground, and felt anger stab through the weary numbness.

_And they're not even our real enemy - he's out there somewhere, hiding behind Dark Creatures and sneak attacks…_

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" The Dementors shrank back before his Patronus, but this morning it gave him no satisfaction. Harry's question was for their master, and even if that unknown person couldn't hear a word of Harry's shouts through the Fidelius Charm, that didn't stop him. "STOP PLAYING GAMES WITH US!" He was vaguely aware of wondering eyes on him as he strode across the playground, only stopping when he was so close to the wall he could smell the Inferi and stare into their blank eyes. "WHY DON'T YOU JUST FUCKING _ATTACK_?"

He stood in the warm sunlight, the only response to his shouts a cold silence, and realised that he couldn't even hear birdsong. The injured people had gone quiet as well. _Everyone's probably waiting for me to leap the wall and start attacking the Inferi._

As the anger slipped away, and he started to feel slightly ridiculous, he heard a slow clapping, startlingly loud in the quiet playground. He turned around to see Malfoy sitting on the swing, clapping his hands with an air of studied boredom. "What are you going to do for an encore?"

The floor around Malfoy's feet was littered with lumps of charred and twisted metal - _he _had obviously been neither slow or unlucky. He picked a piece up and poked at it with his wand, only looking back at Harry when he was practically standing over him.

"Really, Potter - 'Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough'?" His voice dripped with contempt, but his eyes gleamed in a way Harry was starting to recognise as amusement.

Harry dropped himself down on the seat next to him. "That's _not _what I said."

"Sounded like it from here." Malfoy sniffed and poked the metal more forcefully. It dropped to pieces in his palm, looking like the charred bones of some tiny animal. There was a torn scrap of flesh in the middle of it. "Honestly, you might as well have been beating your chest and waving your club." He glanced at Harry, his mouth twitching.

Harry refused to rise to the bait. He just smiled and said, "bit hard to do both at the same time."

"Only for a Neanderthal." The scrap of flesh moved, wriggling against Malfoy's wand like a worm. He pulled a face and dropped it on the floor. "Incendio." It squirmed as it burned, and he gave an exaggerated shudder.

"Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

A pained look shot across Malfoy's face. He managed a half shake of his head before he started talking, the words coming out in fits and starts as if being forced out. "Maybe. Perhaps. Not in metal, though." He shut his mouth, lips thinning to a hard line. He looked he was fighting a hard internal battle, and glared at Harry as if he was somehow beating the information out of him. "When I was a child my father used to make me birds out of paper - insects too. They flew as if they were alive, and could last for weeks." He stared down at the pathetic little fire, dying down as he spoke. "I unfolded one when it 'died', and it had a couple of spider's legs in it, all shrivelled up."

"Nice toy," Harry said.

Malfoy grinned at him, eyes unapologetic and sparkling. "Oh, they _were_."

"Is it a common skill?"

"I've never seen anyone else do it. Though most of my friends' fathers weren't particularly interested in them when they were kids, so the fact that they didn't make them toys probably doesn't mean anything." He scowled down at his hands, lost in thought. "And these things aren't toys, they're weapons."

Harry found it difficult enough to imagine Lucius Malfoy playing with his son, even if the toys he made for Draco did owe as much to the Dark Arts as they did the skill of his hands. He looked down at the metal insects, and pictured the cold, hard-eyed man he'd fought against. Even if Lucius had used that spell in a frivolous way to amuse his son, Harry was sure it was designed for something much darker.

He opened his mouth to ask another question, and found Malfoy's hand slapped over it. "The werewolf's probably told you about the little misunderstanding we had over the Veritaserum, but I'm going to warn you anyway." The point of his wand jabbed against Harry's throat. "If you even _look_ like you're going to ask a personal question, I'll silence you. Understand?"

_Veritaserum? _Harry thought about the way Malfoy had spoken so candidly about his family, and Lupin's comment about 'getting their stories straight'. _Why didn't I realise? God, I'm slow today… _He was only just starting to consider the fun possibilities when he was hopelessly distracted by the way just trying to grin moved his lips over bumps and hollows and calluses… Nodding his head was an excuse to feel more; the sensation of Malfoy's fingertips sliding over his cheek was just an added bonus.

Malfoy didn't snatch his hand away, but his expression was closed-off and unreadable. Even those normally wicked eyes seemed like windows with their shutters closed. He took a deep breath that made his whole body tremble. "Nuzzle my hand all you like, Potter, but if you start licking it, I'll be forced to kill you. No one would deny it was self-defence -"

* * *

_He's doing it. He's fucking _doing _it._ As his whole world narrowed down to the sensation of Potter's tongue on his skin, leaving a damp, tingling trail up his life line, Draco realised two things. The first was that Potter was just as determined not to back down as he was. The second was just how long it was since Draco had been touched in anything resembling a non-violent way. The way he'd reacted to Potter's previous, more innocent touches, should have warned him; his body was starved for touch, and now - even if Potter was only acting out of bravado - it was reacting accordingly.

Draco drew in another deep breath, trying to think of a suitably cutting comment. "That's disgusting," he said, inwardly cursing both the softness of his voice and the tightness twisting his stomach and spreading down his limbs. "You saw what I've just been holding." He tried for a sneer. "And you don't know what else I've been touching."

Potter just grinned at him. _I'm definitely losing my touch…_

But maybe he hadn't, because Potter dropped his hand and spun away, grin gone as quickly as it had formed. Draco was just wondering what he'd done, when a noise blared out through the still air.

Just a horn tooting, but Potter reacted to it as if it was a scream for help. Draco followed the direction of his anxious stare, and saw a Muggle vehicle in the lane.

He watched in fascination as the vehicle slowed to a crawl. The horn sounded again as the Inferi closed around it.

_Is the idiot actually trying to get them to move out of his way? Has he not got eyes in his head? What does he think they are - people in very clever costumes? _

_If I were him I'd be driving very fast in the opposite direction…_

"Oh, _shit_…" Potter's muttered - but very succinct - summing up of the situation was almost drowned out by the sound of breaking glass. "_NO!_"

With a sharp pop, the air rushed in to fill the space in the world Potter had so recently been occupying. The split second before he reappeared on the car roof seemed to stretch out into hours, but Draco had known where he was going from the very instant he Disapparated.

Panic flooded through him like a tide, totally unexpected and unwelcome.

"STUPID FUCKING _IDIOT!_"

Potter threw up a wall of flame around the car. The Inferi shrank back, but Draco wasn't impressed.

_How are you going to keep them back, _and _get the Muggles out of their vehicle, _and _bring them back over here - when _here _is protected by Fidelius? Stupid, reckless, fucking _Gryffindor_!_

_I'm probably going to regret this…_

Draco turned and ran into the Schoolhouse.

* * *

The choice had been made in an instant - _and really wasn't a choice at all._ It was only when Harry found himself crouched on the car roof, listening to the screams coming from below him, surrounded by the flames he himself had called up, that he thought about the practicalities.

So - he'd forced the Inferi back. _What now?_

"Get out of the car! Climb up here!"

A ferocious buzzing in the air, barely audible over the screams and roar of the flames, was the only warning he got. Harry flung himself flat as the metal insects swarmed down over the car.

Another split-second choice - this one between continuing to hold back the Inferi and protecting himself against this new attack - and another easy one. Harry held the flames steady and tensed himself for the pain as the insects drove into his flesh…

It never came. The insects flew so close to him they caught in his clothes and hair, metal wings nicking his skin, then swept back off into the sky in a great swirling mass. Having seen what they could do, Harry should have been relieved, but all he could think was _why? _

He cautiously raised his head, and met the mocking gaze of a man standing on the other side of the flames. No Inferius, this. Lucius Malfoy smiled at him through the fire.

"Hello, Potter."


	17. Chapter 9

A?N - so much for getting a chapter out before I went on holiday! This chapter is a long one, but it didn't seem right to split it.

WARNING - some mild (I think) horror elements.

* * *

**9.**

The scratch of Lupin's quill was a profoundly irritating sound. Draco took another quick glance out of the window, but could see no more than he had before - and that was irritating too. The wall of fire was still doing its work, so Potter couldn't be dead yet, but - "Hurry up!"

"Done." Lupin thrust the paper towards him, and Draco Disapparated -

- or tried to. It felt like he'd run straight into a solid stone wall at great speed. Every atom of his body seemed to flare with pain. Then he was whole, curled up in a ball of smarting flesh on the floor. He sucked in deep gulps of air and fought the urge to retch, and didn't even try to shake Lupin's hand from his shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

"Not splinched," Draco managed, fighting the urge to pat himself down to check. "Anti-Disapparition Jinx." He was rather impressed. The caster wouldn't be able to see the Schoolhouse, but, thanks to the Dementors, he _could _see where the boundaries of the Fidelius Charm were. An effective Anti-Disapparition Jinx would have to cover that entire area._ Hardly the same thing as trapping a few prisoners. That will have taken some _serious _power._

The identity of the Death Eater commanding the Inferi was something Draco had been pondering ever since he'd Apparated into this mess. _Intelligence _and _raw power - that narrows it down quite a bit... _He had a sick feeling in his stomach that had absolutely nothing to do with his failed Disapparition.

That sick feeling intensified as he realised something else.

_oh shit… Potter won't be able to get back. He's stuck out there…_

"Broomstick. _Now._"

* * *

Harry kept the flames burning, but found himself tensing up, preparing for the attack that must surely come. Lucius Malfoy regarded him with the calm, amused gaze of someone who knew he had the upper hand. "Well, I thought that would bring someone out," he said. "I had no idea it would be _you_." He raised one pale eyebrow in a manner that Harry found painfully familiar.

"Sorry if I've messed up your plans," Harry said. Bit hard to keep calm and defiant while running frantically through spells in his head, trying to find one to get through the car roof, but somehow he was managing it. "No one gets to kill or torture me but Voldemort, right? Very inconvenient."

When he'd used Voldemort's name in front of Bellatrix, she'd snarled at him like a woman possessed; Malfoy just blinked and smiled, as if it was some endearing little conceit of equality. "Plans can be changed." He raised his hand and made a quick, impatient gesture. The Inferi started to move forward, into the flames, mouths falling open in silent screams as they began to burn. "And there are things in this world far more frightful than the Half-blood's wrath."

_I didn't really hear that. Lucius Malfoy didn't just call his master a Half-blood…it's not possible…_

But he didn't have time to be shocked or curious by Malfoy's new lack of respect for Voldemort. The Muggles were still trapped in the car, and the Inferi were forcing their way through his conjured flames. Their hair and tattered clothes burned as quickly as dry straw. Skin blackened and split, dead flesh melted like candle wax…Harry jerked his foot away from a hand that reached up for him, a few crisped bits of skin clinging to charred bone.

Another hand caught hold of the leg of his jeans and yanked. The fabric tore and Harry's feet went out from underneath him. He had a moment of trying to keep his footing on the slick metal, another of hanging in mid-air, then he hit the car roof with painful force.

_This can't be happening, this can't be happening…_

He kicked out at the groping hands. The movement was frantic, almost panicked, but in his head, Harry was already pulling himself together.

_I've survived worse than this._

"_Reducto!_"

He never would never had dreamt of using that spell against anything living, or even human-shaped, but 'human-shaped' didn't really apply to these Inferi anymore.

The spell did its job; the nearest Inferi exploded into a fine red mist and what seemed like a million fragments of bone. Harry scrambled to his feet and threw spells around like a man possessed, trying to ignore the cold knowledge in his head.

There were too many of them. He couldn't hold them back. In theory, he could just Apparate away to safety. But, just as he'd been incapable of standing in the playground while the Muggles meet their fate, he couldn't leave them now.

"Potter!"

A hand was thrust down in front of his face. Pale and bony, but whole and unburned… Harry took a precious second of attention away from fighting to look up.

Hovering over him on a broomstick, one arm stretched down towards him, offering Harry his hand and rescue, was Malfoy. _His _Malfoy - and even through the fear and panic and excitement of battle, Harry's brain flinched at that thought and raced to correct it - the other Malfoy, the younger Malfoy…god, if he had to, _Draco_.

That moment of distraction had its price. Hands grabbed at his legs and caught hold of the fabric of his jeans. They also clutched at his arms, and his skin crawled at the touch of slick bone and flesh that crunched and crumbled as he tore himself free. The screams from beneath his feet were getting hoarser, more desperate, and he could feel the vibrations of someone pounding on the car roof from inside.

"Help me!"

"That's what I'm fucking trying to do! Take my fucking hand!"

* * *

Draco couldn't understand it. Potter wasn't the sharpest dagger in the box, but it didn't take a genius to work out 'take hand, fly away, safe'.

"Potter! For fuck's sake!"

There was movement at the very edge of his vision. It instantly caught his attention. Not jerky and forced like the Inferi, but smooth and almost familiar…someone drawing back a wand. Draco had been focusing so much on Potter and the Inferi that he hadn't thought to look for whoever was controlling them. Now he did.

Draco looked at his father and felt like his stomach had Disapparated from his body, leaving behind a cold, hollow space. If he thought about it rationally, it made total sense - of course the Dark Lord would send Lucius, his most capable and most disposable servant, to deal with this - but that didn't stop Draco feeling like it was somehow personal.

_Snape will have told him about the spying thing, won't he? _He had to. Snape wouldn't let his friend believe his son was a traitor as well as a monster - he was ruthless but not cruel. But Lucius showed no signs of understanding. He stood there, wand ready to unleash hell, and stared up at his son. For the first time since childhood, Draco looked at his father's face and found it as easy to read as Potter's. What he saw there made him wish to be cursed dead right there and then.

Lucius blinked, and the pain and sorrow disappeared so quickly Draco could almost make himself believe that they'd never been there in the first place. His face was a cold hard mask as his wand slashed out -

Draco flung himself forward. The broom lurched alarmingly underneath him, but he had his legs wrapped so tightly around it that it hurt. He hadn't been on a broomstick in months, but thankfully it was a skill that once learned was never lost. He needed all that skill as he hung off the broom, blinking in the sickly yellow light that enveloped the Muggle vehicle. The light and the vehicle both seemed to expand and then contract, as if they were breathing…

There was no great explosion, rather a sudden rush of something that was more than mere silence. The change in pressure made Draco's eardrums hurt, but he was more concerned with keeping the broom steady as Potter finally discovered some common sense and made a leap for his hand.

The vehicle disintegrated beneath him, turning into a swirling mass that contained chunks of flesh and bone in amongst twisted scraps of metal and rubber and plastic. Draco told himself that some of the Inferi had probably been caught and torn apart by the spell. He didn't really believe it.

Just Muggles. Were they any different from the insects whose tiny lives had powered his childhood toys? He felt vomit rise in his throat and grimly forced it back down.

Of course they were fucking different.

He looked down at Potter. The other boy's glasses were askew, and, just for a moment, his face screwed up as if he was fighting back tears. Which was a new one to Draco; he would never have believed that tough, perfect Potter _could _cry.

It didn't even occur to him to be amused by it.

The mass crashed together. A split second later he heard buzzing and it no longer mattered if the Muggles were people or insects to be swatted because now they were part of a weapon being thrown against them.

Upset or not, Potter still managed to get his shield up before Draco did.

Hanging from the broom, blood rushing to his head, Potter twisting about on the end of his arm, Draco watched the insects pinging off their combined shields, the Inferi reaching up to grab at Potter's dangling feet, the Dementors drifting over, and his father standing calmly in the middle of it all. He wanted to scream.

There were thirty-odd people left in the Schoolhouse - why weren't they coming to help?

_Because that's exactly what Father wants, what he's trying to get them to do…_

_But if they don't help, we're both going to die here._

"Shit!" Potter heard the exclamation and glanced up at him. So did his father, and that pain was back on his face. "Call them off! I can give you what you want!"

The reaction to that statement, from Potter and his father alike, was so extreme that if Draco hadn't been dangling upside down above a mob of Inferi he would have laughed out loud. Potter looked particularly comical, his expression veering from outrage to suspicion.

_As if he thinks it's a trick, to get us out of this in one piece. Wish I was that clever…_

* * *

A wave of Lucius Malfoy's hand and the swarm retreated. Draco Malfoy's fingers tightened around Harry's wrist. He could do nothing but swing there helplessly, searching the blond boy's face for some indication of what the hell he was playing at.

_It has to be a trick. Lupin's the secret keeper. There's no way -_

Face set hard in concentration, Malfoy gripped his wand between his teeth and groped around in the pockets of his jeans. He pulled out a crumbled piece of paper and held it out towards his father.

There was a moment when Harry could have blasted the paper out of his hand. Instead he just watched as Lucius Accioed it over.

_It's a trick. He's on our side. I can't be so wrong about him…_

Malfoy let go of his wrist.

Harry only dropped a couple of inches before he felt the spell hit.

What was worse than dangling helplessly over a mob of Inferi? Floating helplessly over a mob of Inferi while his 'rescuer' hauled himself back on his broom. And Malfoy _had _given his father the Schoolhouse; with a dull sense of inevitability, Harry watched Lucius look up from the paper and stare directly at it, a smile creeping across his face.

So it was a shock to find that hand reaching down for him again, Malfoy smirking at him as if nothing had happened. _As if he hasn't just sold everyone out. _Harry took his hand, but the shock of the betrayal was moving into anger. _It would be so easy to yank the cheating bastard off that broom, to send him crashing down amongst the Inferi…_

Something of the thought must have shown on his face, because Malfoy's smirk faded, and Harry was struck by just how _tired _he looked. "We haven't got time for this," he said, and he was right.

The Inferi scrambled over the walls and railings of the Schoolhouse. From Harry's vantage point as he pulled himself up onto the broom, they looked like a wave of twitching, squirming bodies, Dementors drifting along in their wake like pebbles caught in the tide. The Schoolhouse itself was almost invisible, concealed by a dark, moving cloud of Malfoy's 'toys'.

"What have you _done_?"

"Better them than us," was the only reply he got. _And doesn't that just sum up his fucked up view of the world and the other people he's forced to share it with…selfish bastard! _The 'us' gave Harry a sharp, sweet little feeling in his chest, and that made him even angrier. _There's no '_us'._ I don't want to be part of an 'us' with _him.

That was when he realised that they were moving away from the Schoolhouse. Sailing away from the battle, soaring up into the sky…_running away…_

"We're going back." Harry reached around Malfoy, his hands finding the handle of the broom, trying to get some control over the steering. If he hated Malfoy right now, then he hated himself too; his friends were in danger, but all he could think about was the body he was virtually wrapped around. The stupid softness of the stupid hair blowing in his face, the stupid strength and stupid heat of the stupid thighs trapping his hands against the stupid broomstick…

"You must be insane. Stop messing about!"

Harry pulled his head back just in time to avoid an elbow to the face. _Fine, if he wants to play it like that. _He tore a hand free and drove a quick hard punch into Malfoy's lower back - harder than he intended, but it did the trick. Malfoy was suddenly too concerned with his own pain to fight Harry for control of the broomstick.

"I think you ruptured my kidney," he moaned. "That was a _dirty _blow, Potter."

_Probably my imagination, but he actually sounds impressed…_

"You'd know all about that. Call it fair payback for that time at the flat." Harry tried to sound unsympathetic, but he did feel a twinge of guilt. _Maybe I have really hurt him. _A high-pitched screech drew his attention back to the battle below. _He deserves it._

The screech wasn't a human sound; it reminded Harry of a rocket going off. That impression probably wasn't too far off the mark, he decided as the noise was followed by a flash of light so powerful it filled the sky with a red glow. He looked down to see a dragon in the playground.

Not a flesh and blood dragon, but one made up entirely of white flames and sparkling stars - the weapons-grade version of the fireworks Fred and George had cooked up at school. Its flames were real, not illusion, and it cut a swathe through the Inferi, before soaring up into the swarm of insects.

"Tell me why it's so important that we go back," Malfoy said. Harry ignored him. "I mean, they look to be doing all right down there." Harry pulled his wand from his belt and aimed the broomstick straight into the middle of the swarm. "This is stupid!"

* * *

What with all the pain, indignation, disbelief, fear and frustration rolling around inside Draco, there shouldn't have been room for anger. But as they flew into the swarm, it swelled up inside him, sweeping aside all the other emotions just as easily as the firework dragon swept aside the metal insects. It didn't matter that Potter was sensibly following the dragon, rather than trying to smash his way through the teeming mass as Draco had feared. _He's still a total fucking idiot._

And he was sick of doing whatever he was told - by his father, the Dark Lord, Snape, Lupin, Potter, whoever. _I just want out of all of this. NOW._

"Fucksake!" Despite the pain from his back, he grabbed the broom handle and threw all his weight forward on it. It wasn't about changing course - much too late for that…

_Stop the world. I want to get off…_

Potter tried to fight him - _of course_ - screwing up what should have been a nice painless landing. They slammed sideways against the Schoolhouse roof.

"What the fuck do you think you're _doing_?" Even sliding down the slates, bruised and disorientated and tangled together like lovers, they were still fighting.

"Trying to drop you off at your battle!" Draco had almost forgotten the Veritaserum, but there it was again, making his mouth move faster than his brain. "I don't want to leave you, but this is too fucked up for me. Why do you always think you have to be at the centre of every battle? Not every thing in the world's about you, Potter. Not even this _war _is about you!"

They came to rest against a chimneystack. Draco's vain attempts to untangle himself were frustrated by Potter grabbing his shoulders and shoving him back against the slates.

"I don't want to be at the centre of it! I don't expect you to understand, but you've just put pretty much everyone I care about in danger and I've got to -"

"Got to _what_? Go rescue everyone single-handed? Fuck, I hadn't realised how much this 'Chosen One' shit had gone to your head. You're not some kid who hasn't even finished school yet, you're a Great Hero, single-handedly saving the world! I can't believe I was actually starting to like you - to think that you weren't as stupid and arrogant as you seemed. I'm just as thick as you are!"

Some anger-free part of Draco listened to the Veritaserum-induced spew of words and cringed. But Potter was shouting back at him, and he didn't even have Veritaserum as an excuse.

"I _am _stupid! I trusted _you_ - that was stupid! You sold everyone out for your own skin and even when you were actually doing it, I thought it was a trick. I believed in you, you bastard!"

"Lupin told me to do it, you sanctimonious prick!"

_That _shut him up. Potter stared at him as if he'd just confessed to being Lupin's sex toy. Draco squirmed under the stare. He wished he could ignore the emotions crossing Potter's face, or at the very least, lose his ability to read them. Potter let go of his shoulders, but that didn't mean he could sit up; Potter was still leaning over him, still much too close for comfort.

_I don't care if he likes me. I don't care if he trusts me. I don't _want_ him to trust me. You can only 'trust' if you have control, and if he ever dares to think he controls me I'll fuck him over so badly he won't be able to even think my name without pain. _

_I _hate_ him. _

Draco shrugged, and looked away from Potter's warm, hopeful eyes. "It wasn't my idea. I just thought you'd need to show the Muggles the address to bring them through the Fidelius Charm. But Lupin was worried about the Muggles in the village, and he didn't want the Dark Creatures hanging round here after the Order had gone. So he needed their commander to able to _see_ that we'd gone."

"But the Order hasn't gone."

"Disapparition jinx. Hence the broomstick. I don't know how Lupin's planning to get everyone out now, but I'm sure he'll manage it. I don't think he's into reckless self-sacrifice. Unlike you. And if he is, I'm sure he doesn't drag other people into it."

"Unlike me?" Potter said quietly. "But I didn't drag you anywhere - not this time. You came after me." Draco could almost hear the question before it came, and bit his lip, trying frantically to think of an answer the Veritaserum would allow. "_Why_?"

"Because you're stupid and reckless and hadn't thought it through. Because I knew you wouldn't come back without the Muggles." Good answers. Nice, neutral answers. Of course, then he had to go and spoil it. "Because you needed me."

_Right, now I'm going to be sick…_

Thankfully, Potter was diverted from whatever he was going to say next. Scorched chunks of metal rained down, bouncing off the slates like over-sized hailstones. The dragon soared past, but it looked faded and blurred, as if its fire was going out.

"I think we should get down from here."

Potter nodded slowly, but Draco got the impression he hadn't heard a word he'd just said. He had finally straightened his glasses, but his face was smeared with soot and splattered with blood, probably from the open cuts on his forehead and chin. There was sticky gunk in his hair, and Draco didn't even want to consider where _that _had come from. Better to look at that than his eyes, though - they were as steady and clear as ever, and his gaze moved over Draco's face as if he'd never really had a chance to look at him before.

And he was still much too close.

_Best to think of him as a human shield; if the swarm attack again they'll get him first._

At least he'd finished scrutinising Draco's face. Now it was his neck's turn. Something in the region of his collarbone interested Potter a great deal.

A quick glance down showed the St Christopher hanging over the collar of his horrible yellow shirt. Just when the anger had started to die down, panic rose to take its place.

_Potter _can't _ask about that! _There wasn't a single answer that Draco could give that wouldn't condemn him.

Potter reached out to touch it. "Wh-" Draco cut off the question with his lips.

It was a stupid thing to do. A hand over his mouth would have stopped the question just as easily. Even if it wouldn't have diverted Potter from the pendant, it didn't run the risk of freaking him out completely…or giving him ideas. This kiss, Draco reflected as he slipped the St Christopher back into his shirt, was definitely going to do one or the other. Potter was frozen in shock, so it could still go either way -

He was about to pull back when Potter's hands came up to cup his face. He felt fingers tangle painfully in his hair, palms warm and firm against his jaw, and the lips that had felt so soft and still just a second ago were suddenly attacking his. Potter kissed like his entire world was narrowed down to that one moment, that one action. No teasing allowed, this was hard, almost bruisingly so, angry, desperate, hungry…_perfect._

Draco couldn't breathe, and he certainly couldn't think. All he could do was react, matching Potter's fierceness with an almost humiliating eagerness. Somewhere deep inside him, a little voice was shouting _do you remember who the fuck this is? _He ignored it, letting it be swept away by sudden, shameful arousal.

* * *

Malfoy arched his back, the lithe, hard lines of his body fitting perfectly against Harry's, surrender and defiance all mixed up in one smooth, taunting motion. Harry twisted his fingers into fine, soft hair and jerked Malfoy's head back, feeling his lips open helplessly as he gasped his pain into Harry's mouth.

The sound of another rocket screaming up into the air brought him sharply back to sanity.

_What the fuck am I _doing_?_

Harry tore himself away so fast he cracked his head on the bricks of the chimneystack behind him. Malfoy stared at him, the glazed look in his eyes shifting to a wariness that just made the whole thing worse. It would be so much easier if he would just smirk, or laugh, or make some sarcastic comment. _But no, he stares at me as if I'm somehow going to leap on him, as if it's my fault. I didn't start it!_

"This game of yours is going too far."

"You seemed to be enjoying it," Malfoy said coolly enough, but his cheeks were flushed with colour. So were his lips, Harry realised with horrified fascination. Lips red and swollen, clothes dishevelled, hair tousled, eyes gleaming, smirk finally creeping into place - he looked wild and dissolute and sexy…and he totally fucking knew it. Harry had never hated him more.

"Why don't you just go to hell," Harry said, turning his back on Malfoy and starting to clamber around the chimneystack. He felt the heat from the latest dragon scorch his face as it flew by. _But getting burnt by fireworks beats staring at Malfoy._ Hell, he'd even take on the Inferi, Dementors and a whole gang of Death Eaters, alone and wandless, than stay up on that roof with Malfoy. Even putting some distance between them didn't help; the want pounded through Harry's blood like some particularly cruel poison.

"I'm taking that as a request rather than a question," Malfoy said. "So I don't have to answer it."

"Do what you want." Harry's feet slipped on the slates; he reached the edge of the roof by the undignified and painful method of sliding down it on his arse. He saw the roof of some kind of outhouse below him - just an easy-looking jump away. Below that was…hell, or the closest thing to it he hoped he would ever see.

Thick greasy smoke drifted through the playground. Impossible to tell now if the dismembered and burning corpses strewn over the broken paving had been Inferi, dying for the second time at Lucius Malfoy's whim, or living human beings. The only movement came from the Dementors drifting around them; aimless and lethargic, they had no interest in the dead.

Harry heard a curse from behind him, and the squeak of Malfoy's trainers trying - and failing - to keep a foothold on the slates. He didn't even look up as Malfoy slid down next to him; his eyes refused to move from the scene below.

_I need to have the faith in Lupin Malfoy seems to have…they must have got out…_ He refused to think of the alternative.

A sudden movement from the Dementors caught his eye. They all seemed to catch the scent at once, surging straight towards Harry and Malfoy…

Adrenaline flared through Harry's body. His wand was raised and _Expecto Patronum _virtually on his lips when he realised that the Dementors weren't coming for them.

_The outhouse…_

Below them, Patronuses seemed to spring fully formed from thin air. If Harry squinted, he could see the outlines of people clustered behind the outhouse. It was like looking at the world through a glass with human-shaped flaws in it - they'd taken on the colours and textures of their background so perfectly he could only tell they were there where the edges didn't quite match up, or when they moved and the Disillusionment Charm took a flickering split second to catch up. And they were all moving now, running for the walls, Patronuses forcing a path through the Dementors. The firework dragon, its fire fading but still beautiful, soared over them like a guardian angel.

Harry's heart leapt. Then dropped right back into his stomach as he saw new figures appear in the lane. Black robes, but not Dementors…

He made a wild leap for the outhouse roof. The slates gave way under him as he landed, and he found himself sliding helplessly, dropping ignominiously off the edge in a shower of broken slate.

* * *

Draco watched Potter's undignified progress down to ground level with a mix of disbelief, weary amusement and admiration. It was the tiniest flicker of admiration, irritating as hell, but he had to acknowledge it.

The boy was unstoppable. _You could probably smash him several times over the head with a rock and he'd still keep going_. Courage was an over-rated concept, but Potter's unshakeable stubbornness and confidence were as fascinating to watch in action as they were annoying to experience. _The only way to slow him down would probably be Avada Kedavra, and even that doesn't work, if the stories are true. _

_Like a fucking force of nature…_

No. He refused to be impressed by anything about Potter, especially not now. He had a kink in his neck, his back ached and his lips were finally tingling instead of throbbing

That was quite an apt description of Potter, though. _Like a hurricane, or an earthquake - no brain, just flattens everything and everyone in his path._

Draco watched Potter charge across the playground, already hurling hexes at the Death Eaters. _And like a hurricane - totally exhilarating to watch, even when your house is being torn down by it. _He muttered a quick _Accio broom _and snatched the broomstick from the air as it hurtled towards him.

_Bastard. _

* * *

The Death Eaters were all that mattered - the curses that they sent Harry's way, the spells he used to block them, the hexes he sent back. He concentrated fiercely on the mechanics of the fight, refusing to think about what he might be stepping on, ignoring the sickening smell of the smoke still drifting around.

He dived behind the swings to avoid a curse. Purple light splashed against the chains, and the swing moved, dislodging the charred remains resting on it. The corpse slumped forward, swinging back and forth in a parody of play. Harry scrambled away from it, but the smell of it was already in his nose.

Like cheap perfume sprinkled over an overcooked joint of beef… His stomach flipped.

_Don't think about it…don't think about it…_

Harry only lost his focus for just a couple of seconds, but that one nauseated moment of distraction was all it took. Every inch of his body froze up as the spell hit.

He toppled over, thankfully away from the swing. Someone stepped over him, heavy velvet robes swirling around fine dragonhide boots. Harry couldn't look up - cheek pressed against the stone flags, he was stuck staring at those no-doubt expensive boots - but he knew who it was.

His captor spun around. Velvet brushed over Harry's face, and light flashed as a spell was blocked - and returned.

There was the dull thud of a body hitting the ground, and a broomstick clattered across the paving stones, rolling to a rest in front of Harry's horrified eyes.

_No, he wouldn't - not his own son…_

He found his paralysis lifted, but before he had the chance to do more than grab for his wand, ropes coiled around his wrists. He struggled to his knees, frantically looking for Draco.

He was just a few feet away, sprawled on the ground at his father's feet.

_Red light, not green - he's unconscious, not dead._

Malfoy crouched down, gently brushing the hair out of his son's face. "I failed you," he said softly, "but I will make things right. If I can't save you, I'll do the honourable thing." His voice dropped, and Harry had to strain to hear. "However much it hurts."

As Harry marvelled at the tenderness in Lucius Malfoy's voice - and wondered if he could pick up his wand with his teeth - a gentle breeze drifted through the playground. Gentle - but it drove away the smoke, and the foul stench, replacing it with a scent that Harry recognised all too well. They were probably a good fifty miles from the sea in either direction, about as landlocked as you could get on this island…but the breeze smelt like it was blowing directly from the ocean.

Malfoy seemed to recognise it too. His head shot up, and the wind seemed to concentrate around him, catching locks of his hair and almost playing with it. He closed his eyes and smiled - the nearest thing to a genuine, happy smile Harry had seen on either him or Draco.

He surged to his feet and pointed his wand at what seemed to Harry to be thin air. "Well, show yourself, lady."

A twitch of his wand, and, like paint dribbling over a canvas, the Disillusionment Charm slowly dripped away. Hermione stood there, looking rather alarmed at being stripped of her camouflage.

_Oh shit… _Malfoy had just taken both Harry and Draco down so easily, and he'd had reasons to spare both their lives - reasons that didn't apply to Hermione. She gripped the black box tightly under her arm, and pointed her wand at Malfoy with every outward sign of confidence - but Harry could see the sudden panic he felt reflected in her eyes. _Hermione's clever and brave - but she's not a fighter…_

Malfoy looked at the box under her arm and laughed - not the mocking laugh of a sadistic killer, but the warm chuckle of a benevolent uncle. "This makes things rather interesting," he said, and made a swift gesture with his free hand.

Hermione flinched and Harry saw her move to block the attack - an attack that never came.

Seconds later, Harry heard the now-familiar buzzing, and the last remnants of the swarm swept down from the sky…past Hermione, towards the other Death Eaters.

Some of them were still fighting - none of them realised the danger until it was too late.

Hermione still had her wand pointed firmly at Malfoy; he gave her an exaggerated bow, and his laugh echoed around the playground long after he Disapparated.

Hermione stood there for a second, apparently just as confused as Harry. Then she pulled herself together and released him from his bonds.

As he snatched up his wand and scrambled over to Draco, not even bothering to stand up in his haste, Harry saw other Order members appearing around them, and he caught snippets of panicked conversation.

"The Disapparition Jinx must be down."

"We need to get out of here _now_."

"Malfoy's just offed all his men - don't think he'll be coming back with reinforcements."

"Better to be safe than sorry."

"Are you all right?" Harry looked up at the familiar voice, and felt a warm rush of relief when he saw Ron. He put his arm around Hermione, probably not even realising he was doing it, and she let him. _Progress_. "What the hell just happened?"

"I don't know! Lucius Malfoy's finally gone insane?"

"Good work with the fireworks, boys."

"Our very great pleasure."

"Where now, boss?"

"Folkestone. You know the address."

"Ooohh, there'll be bluuuebirds overr, the whiiite cliiifs of Dooover -"

"Broomsticks, Fred, broomsticks."

"Really? Nah - pretty certain it's bluebirds."

"We'll _make _it broomsticks."

With every familiar voice, that warm feeling increased. Even Fred and George's singing sounded beautiful to Harry as he touched his wand to Draco's forehead and whispered "Rennervate."

Draco's eyes opened instantly, wide and full of panic. "Oh, fuck, I tried to hex Father."

Harry grinned. He wasn't going to hug him. Or kiss him. _But, god, I want to. I'm _sick_…and I really don't care._ "Rushing to the rescue again? Anyone would think you wanted to be a hero." Draco pulled a face, and Harry sat back on his heels, away from temptation. "And your father's gone mad. He bowed to Hermione. And killed the other Death Eaters."

"He _bowed _to Granger?"

'Granger', Harry noted, Not 'the Mudblood'. _Such a stupid little thing to be pleased about, but I am. _

Draco had gone straight to the puzzling bit. That Lucius Malfoy would turn against Voldemort wasn't particularly hard to believe. That he would make such a grand gesture of respect to a Muggleborn was. Even in jest it was unbelievable - and Malfoy had never seemed much of a man for jokes.

"Snape was right," Draco said quietly. "The castle _has _got to him."

"Cas-" Harry's question wasn't cut off by a kiss this time, but a hand slapped firmly over his mouth.

"Do you ever stop asking questions?" Draco snapped. Harry caught the edge of pleading lurking beneath the sharp tone and relented - for about ten seconds, until the hand was cautiously moved away from his mouth, and an evil impulse worthy of Draco himself had him asking:

"Did you enjoy it?"

Draco's struggle was truly impressive. He bit his lip, slammed his hand over his mouth, and glared at Harry with real venom.

Harry couldn't hear his reply, but he didn't need to. _Because he probably would have spit a 'No' straight into my face._

"Yeah," Harry said calmly, trying to ignore the heat rising inside him, the way his heart seemed to be trying to beat its way out of his chest. "I hated it too."

* * *


	18. Chapter 10a

A/N - just a quiet interlude...

* * *

**10a.**

"Ow!"

"Look - I've got to clean the wounds before I close them - stop being such a fucking baby and _let_ me."

_Clean the wounds, yes - not scrub at them…_ Draco seemed determined not to meet Harry's eyes; his attention was fixed on Harry's forehead, and the damp piece of cloth he was using to 'clean' the cut there. The corner of his mouth twitched as Harry flinched again.

"You're enjoying this too much."

_That _got a smile - a warm flash of amusement that vanished the second Draco realised he was showing it. "My whole reason for existing is to cause you pain, Potter," he said, carefully flippant. "Haven't you realised that yet?"

"Oh, I don't know - you're doing quite a good job of keeping me alive, as well."

"You'd be no _fun_ dead." But the retort was automatic, with no real venom behind it. Draco bit his lip as he moved the tip of his wand to Harry's forehead. The fingers of his free hand brushed against Harry's skin. He knew Draco was just moving his hair clear of the cut, but he shivered anyway, and was rather glad of the sharp sting of pain as the wound closed. "You know, you could have had these dealt with before we set off - by a competent healer."

"I didn't want to stay there any longer than I had to." It was the truth. The broomstick clearing the trees, soaring up into air that was clean and sweet, leaving the Schoolhouse and its dead behind, had almost been one of the best moments of Harry's life. Yes, it had felt like running away - but in a good way…one moment of total freedom. He could even admit to himself that Draco's company had made the moment even sweeter - even when the other boy had fallen asleep, the warmth of his body pressed up against Harry's back more than making up for the drool on his shoulder.

"We could've gone with the others," Draco said. "'The Grand Hotel' - it doesn't sound like a very subtle hideout, but it does sound like the kind of place I'd like to be right now. Hotels have beds." Harry blinked and stared at him, but he just continued plaintively, "I've forgotten what sleep feels like."

Harry brought his breathing back under his control. _Right, sleep, yes - whatever else would you use a bed for? _He was suddenly very glad that Draco was choosing to avoid his gaze; he could feel the heat in his cheeks, and he was sure what he'd been thinking was written all over his face in big, lust-fuelled letters.

"You can sort out the cuts on your arms yourself." Draco pointed his wand at the stump of a fallen tree. It turned into a heap of cushions. Harry politely ignored the fact that their fabric still retained the colour and texture of tree bark. Draco collapsed on them with a sigh.

"You can't sleep now!"

"Watch me."

And Harry did.

He couldn't sleep himself. He told himself that one of them had to stay awake and alert, even in this peaceful clearing, seemingly cut off from the rest of humanity by steep hills and thick woodland. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was afraid of what he'd see if he closed his eyes. Nothing at all.

So he rested his back against a tree and watched Draco sleep, sprawled on his back amongst the cushions, limbs all loose and relaxed. The sunlight seemed to sink into him, making his pale flesh glow like the quartz of a Dowsing pendulum. The silken spread of his hair looked like a halo.

Harry looked away. He watched a dragonfly dart over the little stream that flowed through the clearing, its jewelled body sparkling as much in the sunlight as the water did below it. He looked at the wild flowers clustered beneath the trees, bright purple and blue and white, and tried to see if he recognised any of them from Herbology. Then, slowly but inevitably, his gaze drifted back to Draco.

_If you don't know you want something until it's right up there in your face, how do you know you _really _want it, or if it's just, well, opportunism? It was a good kiss - god, an _amazing _kiss - but -_

Harry felt his neck and cheeks grow hot again as he remembered. It had almost felt as if a switch had been flicked in his head. One minute he had been frozen, refusing to believe what was happening, then this great rushing tide of hunger and excitement and sheer _need_ had torn through him from god-knows-where, and he'd been lost. Or mostly lost - 'truly lost' happened when Draco…responded.

Harry drew his knees up against his chest. His face burned, maybe in response to the heat flooding through him, pooling in his head and his crotch. His head pounded, he had the biggest hard-on of his life, and he was _shaking_.

Harry had known Draco wasn't as cold as he liked to appear, but a few little glimpses of warmth underneath all the bullshit were hardly enough preparation for _that_.

_And that wasn't him trying to mess with my head, was it? It wasn't teasing, it was _real.

_Jesus Christ…_

Draco made a little sound - a sigh in his sleep, Harry realised just as he was about to panic. Perhaps in another world, he would have gone over and kissed him awake - just for the hell of it, just to see what would happen…but in this one he'd rather die than have Draco see him like this…

Draco moved, stretching, his sprawled legs falling into a new position - undignified in a way he would never willingly be awake. His t-shirt rode up, the too-large jeans slipped down over his hips…

Harry scrambled to his feet and retreated into the woods.

* * *

Draco woke with a shock, droplets of water cold on his bared skin. He blinked up at branches silhouetted against a sky the colour of bruised skin, and had a moment of complete disorientation.

Then he forced himself to sit up, saw the broomstick propped up against a tree and a dejected-looking Potter sitting by the stream, and remembered _everything_. "So - were you going to wake me up or just let me drown?"

Potter didn't look up. He stared at the water as if he could see the future in the ripples. "It's only a bit of rain. We both needed a wash."

"A cold shower, anyway." The words slipped out before Draco could stop them; perhaps his system wasn't as clear of the Veritaserum as he'd thought. He watched the colour spread across the back of Potter's neck, and decided it would be fun if he wasn't so completely humiliated by the situation himself.

The kiss itself had had a certain panic-of-the-moment logic to it. His reaction, on the other hand…_that _had no logic. _Harry fucking Potter… _He supposed he should be grateful that Potter had had some self-control. _Because I would have done anything…let him do _anything_… _

He stood up. "Are we going to get going, then? Because a wet afternoon in the Pennines is not my idea of a good time. Of course, neither is sneaking into my family home when it's probably crawling with my former colleagues, but y'know -"

"What is?" Potter said, still not looking at him.

"What is _what_?"

"Your idea of a good time."

"Music, flying, travel, beautiful things, alcohol, beautiful _people,_" - and that wasn't a thought he should be having, with Potter now staring up at him, leaves in his hair and expression full of genuine curiosity and eyes full of…something else - "games of chance and intellect, more alcohol…" _And I could really do with a drink right now. _"Funnily enough, 'fighting the forces of evil' isn't even on the list. I expect it's right at the top of yours."

Potter smiled. "Not right at the top," he said. "I prefer Quidditch." His tone was serious, but his eyes glinted, and Draco found himself smiling back before he could stop himself.

"Right," he said as Potter got to his feet. "How could I forget?" Potter reached out for the broomstick, but Draco got there first. "_My_ turn," he said. "You like flying? I'll show you _flying_."

* * *

Draco's idea of flying seemed to be to try every manoeuvre possible to dislodge Harry from the back of the broom. He hung on tight, wind whipping at his hair and rain driving in his face, flying so close to the treetops that twigs caught in the rips in his jeans and leaves were torn free at their passing - and enjoyed every minute.

A particularly sudden dive lifted Harry right off the broom - he grabbed Draco around the waist, almost taking him with him, and his wild whoop of laughter was swept away by the wind.

He leaned forward to shout in Draco's ear. "You'll need to try harder than that if you want to impress me!"

"Impress you?" They levelled out over a river, shooting under the arch of a little stone bridge. "Who says I'm not just trying to get rid of you?"

Taking the broomstick had been Draco's idea. His reasoning was that he didn't want to Apparate blind to the front doors, or into the walled garden, both places where there were likely to be guards or new defences, but he also didn't fancy a long hike from the boundaries of the wards. Harry agreed with him, but that didn't mean they had to fly all the way from Yorkshire. There could be only one reason for that - _he just wanted to fly._

He briefly tightened his arms around Draco in a hug that the other boy could easily dismiss as Harry hanging on for dear life - if he wanted to.

"I'm not that easy to get rid of, either!"

"I've noticed!"

* * *

About a hundred miles and well over an hour later, the buzz still hadn't worn off. The broom was a rather knackered old thing - its cushioning charm seemed to have decayed with age and its top speed was nothing to what Draco was used to - but they'd come out of the rain clouds, the late-afternoon sun was still warm enough to dry their clothes (_impervious_ had turned out not to be so useful when you were wet already) and they were _flying_. The world might not be whipping by with quite the speed he would have liked, but it was far below him, Muggle towns and roads turned into abstract patterns amongst a landscape that looked almost flat after the hills they'd flown through earlier.

_Home. _Draco spotted a familiar landmark and let the broomstick slow and drop. The exposed chalk glowed in the sunlight, and the White Horse seemed almost alive, poised to leap gracefully off its grassy hillside. He could feel Potter shifting on the broom behind him, leaning forward for a better look.

"Never seen one of those before?" he asked. "There's a lot of them around here." _But only this one marks the North boundary of our estate. _Draco pulled out his wand and concentrated. _It's probably paranoia to expect new defences this far out, but -_

Ghostly colours flared up in the air in front of him, rising from the chalk horse like an escaping soul. More colour appeared above the track ways leading from either end of it, and it brought back memories. Draco had been taken to walk the wards at the Manor with his father long before he'd been allowed near the ones at the Castle; raised in a less violent age, they were less dangerous, set up to trap intruders rather than kill them in vicious and inventive ways.

He looked at the patterns in the colours and could see nothing out of the ordinary. Generations of tampering had left the Manor's wards as full of holes as Swiss cheese, but they were still the most formidable wards ever raised around a family home. _Because one thing our family has always excelled in is making formidable enemies. _Those words had been spoken over a decade before, but Draco could hear his father's voice as clearly as if he was floating in the air beside him.

"Are you all right?"

Draco didn't respond. The world had twisted so badly - here he was, about to take through the wards someone he'd always thought of as his personal contribution to that list of enemies, just another of the actions that seemed to be making him an enemy out of his own father…

"Touch me," he said eventually.

"What?"

"The wards need a gesture of…well, not friendship as such, more like alliance, to let you through with me. We should clasp hands, but I want to be able to use my wand. Take hold of my arm or something." Potter's fingers closed around Draco's wrist, doing no more than he'd been told to - and every muscle in Draco's body chose to tense up. "And if you've put any spells on me - anything from Imperius to a love potion, now would really be the time to own up."

"Love potion?" Potter sounded amused; Draco's fingers tightened around his wand. He tried to satisfy himself by simply imagining the hexes he could use on Potter - it didn't work.

"That was just an example!" _And a suspicion…_ "Didn't you see what I was doing there - going from the Unforgiveable Curse to the silly little thing that might seem harmless but is still a form of control?" _And there's no way of saying this that won't be humiliating, but - _"If you've got even the tiniest bit of magical control over me, the wards will fuck you over - _royally._"

"Do you think I have?"

_Yes…it's the only rational explanation for the way you're making me feel… _"One way to find out."

Draco felt the little tug on his body as they passed through the wards. Potter's fingers tightened on his wrist as he felt it too, but he wasn't torn away from Draco. _So no magical control, then…_damn_…_

"You can let go of me now."

"Oh, right." But his fingers lingered for just a second more than they had to, and as they left the White Horse behind, Draco wasn't thinking about what might be waiting for them at the Manor, or why Potter was so determined to go there. All he could think about was that touch.

_What the hell is happening to me..?_

* * *


	19. Chapter 10b

**10b.**

So much for the blazing fight he'd expected. The grounds of the Manor seemed deserted, landscaped park and ornamental gardens alike dozing in the hot, heavy air; if Draco ignored the heat of Potter's body and the weight of the invisibility cloak, he could almost imagine himself returning home after a day out exploring the Downs on his broom.

_Almost_. The quiet didn't relax him, but seemed to make him tenser - he scrutinised every shadow, flinched at every birdcall. A magpie startled out of its lethargy by the sound of their feet hitting the roof became, in Draco's imagination, an Animagus sounding the alarm and cursing them with every squawk.

He scrambled and slipped over the tiles. The cloak fell off him as he pulled away from Potter, but he didn't care. Even covered by it he'd felt exposed and vulnerable; he just wanted to get inside.

"Over here!" Only one of the attic windows was murky with dust and cobwebs. Draco opened it with a quick muttered "Alohomora," and reached up to grab the window ledge. "This is the one room _guaranteed _to be deserted."

_Famous last words…_ As Draco clambered in, he saw that it wasn't deserted at all. A little boy in dirty, homespun robes was sitting on the bed, Draco's precious books strewn around him in various stages of ruin, holding up a torn page to his face as if he didn't quite know what the words were but would figure it out through sheer willpower alone.

He leapt to his feet and bolted for the door. Draco looked at the desecrated books and hit him with a hex so powerful it sent him flying.

_Grubby little _shit_! _

Those books were supposed to be Draco's secret. Each had arrived in mysterious circumstances, from an unknown benefactor, in a clandestine game that, as a child, had thrilled him almost as much as the wondrous, alien worlds revealed in their pages. Even after their contents had ceased to interest him, and he'd guessed the nature of their authors, he'd kept them safe.

His father in particular would have had a heart attack if he found the little stash, but that just added a sinful edge to the secret that made it all the more delicious.

_And now they've been destroyed. Not even for any ideological reason, but just because this little fucker wanted a plaything…_

The kid shrank back. "I wasn't doing anything wrong - just looking at the pictures! Please don't hurt me! If you do you'll regret it! My mum will gut you, and the Leader will piss on your bones!"

Draco's wand went back, and he heard himself make a sound that was almost a growl. Then he was grabbed from behind, strong fingers closing around his wrist.

"He's just a kid!"

_More like a demon brat from Hell…_ But Draco's rage was already ebbing - the natural result of trying to divide itself between two targets. He pulled himself free of Potter's grip. The kid's terrified eyes followed his every movement, fixed not on his face, but his arm - and the Dark Mark.

"My family will kill you both!"

"And piss on us too - I think I caught that bit. Nice."

"I thought you said this room was always deserted?" Potter snapped.

"Always deserted by _adults_. Kids don't have any problems with it - but what the fuck a kid's doing here anyway -" But Potter's gaze was suddenly fixed on the bed. His mouth dropped open.

_Guess he's just found out why adults avoid this room._

Draco didn't need to look at the bed to know what Potter was seeing. The magic that Draco's great-grandfather and his lover had raised in that room had left its mark. The forms writhing on the bed, almost-white hair mingling with jet-black, ivory skin up against olive, weren't sentient beings like ghosts, but mere echoes from the past. Not that that made them any less disturbing, especially to a fourteen-year-old boy wanting some private time with his girlfriend.

_And Pansy just had to decide that it was Father and Professor Snape. That flattened the entertainment factor _completely. Every dinner that holiday had been a nightmare, with Pansy trying not to snigger and Lucius convinced she was mad or insolent or both. _No wonder my parents never really took to her…_

Potter took a ragged breath. "That's not physically possible…" he muttered, and Draco found fascination replacing the anger. He had no desire to look at the bed, especially with images of his father and Snape floating in his head, but the real show was happening on Potter's face.

"Come on - bet you and Weasley were doing that every night." Potter blinked; Draco had never seen him so flustered.

"What're you lookin' at?" Draco heard the kid's question, but ignored him. He could almost smell Potter's arousal.

"Well, you said you hadn't done anything with the Weasleyette - you must have lost your virginity to _someone_, to be able to see this. The innocent can't. That's how I could sit up here all day as a kid, but when I came up here with Pansy - well, let's just say we both got a bit of a shock." Potter's gaze found its way to Draco. His eyes were wide and bright as he shook his head slowly. "No? You must have done _something_ to _someone_ - what the hell did you do? Wank over him while he slept?"

Potter flushed and looked away. Draco realised that he _could _smell him. The throbbing of Potter's pulse was a faint sound, but he could hear it, a counterpoint to his own racing heart. The chattering call of the magpies outside on the roof suddenly seemed painfully loud.

So did the creak of the floorboards as the kid took a sneaky step towards the wall. One more step and he'd be through the false panel, into whichever part of the house it was connected to that day.

"You don't need to run," Potter said, "we won't hurt you." The kid's gaze flicked to the wand that was suddenly in his hand.

_I wouldn't believe him either. Watch out, kid - he's crazy._

"Who are you? Are you alone?"

"I'm Pack," the boy snarled. "We're _never _alone."

"Pack?"

"Werewolves," Draco said slowly. "Looks like the Dark Lord is still finding new ways to humiliate my family."

The kid glared at him, and said "this is our new home!" as if daring Draco to contradict him. "It's _our _place - where we can be free and build up our forces until we're strong enough to make wizards pay for thousands of years of persecution! And you _will _pay. We're strong - bound up in the heartbeat of Nature - the time has come for us to stop buying into the shame wizards force on us and make them fear and respect us!"

The room suddenly seemed very cold and small. The kid's anti-wizard rhetoric was as parroted as Draco's own anti-Muggles views had been at that age, and should have been comical. _But I know who's been teaching him it… _A sick thought crossed his mind - it was a real wonder the kid couldn't see the echoes, given who he was hanging with.

* * *

Harry listened to the boy's rant with a sick feeling growing in his stomach. He couldn't be more than nine, and surely couldn't understand all of what he was saying, but his eyes burned with hatred, and the venom in his voice was very real.

That werewolves should be treated better seemed like a no-brainer to Harry. He been outraged at the way Lupin was being forced to live. He was no monster, but a kind, intelligent man with an illness. _They need sympathy, not hate._ But then he thought of Fenrir Greyback, and his use of infection as a weapon, and felt fear and disgust twist together inside him. Harry knew what Greyback's way of 'making wizards pay' would be, and all the sympathy in the world couldn't stop his skin crawling at the thought of it.

"'Bound up in the heartbeat of nature'?" Draco said scornfully "When did old blood-and-guts Fenrir start channelling a bleeding-heart Half-breed Rights activist? Or did he just eat one?"

"Don't talk about the Leader like that!" The kid flew at Draco, and was hit by a binding spell in mid-charge. "And we're not 'Half-breeds' - we're _wolves_."

"No," Draco said as he caught hold of the binding ropes and hauled the kid to his feet. "Wolves are good-natured, social creatures who only kill for food. Do you really think that describes you and your kind? I don't."

"Do you think Greyback's here - in the house?" Harry asked.

"I fucking hope not," Draco said, quietly but with feeling. "But Wolf-boy here can be a hostage if we run into any other members of his 'pack'." He jerked the ropes and the kid swore at him. "Do you kiss your mother with that potty mouth?"

"Do you?" Harry said. Draco glared at him; he shrugged and grinned. "And I don't think we need a hostage."

"I've got a lot to swear about," Draco muttered. He let go of the rope and the little boy cursed some more as he hit the floor. "Does taking a hostage offend your delicate sensibilities, Potter?"

It did, actually, but Harry decided not to raise to the bait. They'd wasted enough time already - _anyone would think he doesn't want to leave this room. _

Though the delay hadn't entirely been down to Draco… Harry glanced back at the bed. Ghostly and flickering as the men were, he could pick out strands of pale hair stuck to the blond man's face and neck and chest, see his mouth open in silent ecstasy and his body jerking in time to his lover's rather violent thrusts… Harry looked away, still not sure if he should be horrified or fascinated.

"The cloak fits over two people easier than three, and I think he'd be more trouble than he's worth." He stepped up close to Draco and slung the Invisibility cloak around them both.

To his surprise, Draco didn't argue. He just leaned closer and whispered, "do _you _think they look like Father and Professor Snape?"

Harry shut his eyes, and grimly fought against the image that had just been slipped into his head. "I _didn't_," he said. "Thanks for just scarring me for life."

"You're welcome."

* * *

The Long Gallery was not quite how Harry remembered it. Strips of canvas crunched beneath his feet, torn from the paintings on the walls. Several of the windows were broken, and the sunlight shining through the remnants of their pretty lead tracery painted the room with shadows like clutching skeletal fingers. The air was foul with a smell Harry was trying his best not to think of as stale urine. And the doors of the mahogany cabinet hung open, the trinkets it had held scattered and broken on the floor. The little portrait was nowhere to be seen.

Draco was quiet and tense beside him. Harry tried to imagine what he was thinking and feeling, and decided that he couldn't. Imagining Number Four, Privet Drive wrecked and looted didn't bring up any comparable feelings - but then, that had never really been Harry's home in the first place, just somewhere he'd been grudgingly allowed to sleep.

He tentatively touched Draco's arm, and the other boy turned his head to look at him, lips twisting into a bitter smile. "Go on, Potter, tell me how they'll all get what's coming to them. I actually believe it when you say it."

"I can't promise you revenge." Draco gave a little snort, as if Harry was living up to all his - very low - expectations, and looked away. Harry's fingers on his jaw forced him to look back. "But I will promise you something. We _will _survive this. The Wizarding World _will _survive this. Voldemort can throw whatever he likes at us, but he _will _be defeated, and the world _will _go back to normal."

"That's quite a promise," Draco said - without a hint of sarcasm, for which Harry was very grateful. He'd meant every word, but there'd always been the chance that Draco would see it as ridiculous, just another example of Harry 'Chosen One' Potter and his delusions of grandeur. Some part of Harry could see it that way himself. Draco's eyes glinted. "That kind of promise should be written out in your own blood."

_I don't need to - the Universe heard me._ It was a ridiculous thought, but his words had felt as binding as an Unbreakable Vow. Harry swallowed, suddenly unsure of himself. He felt the skin move under his fingertips as Draco grinned.

"What - no snappy comeback, Potter? Don't tell me you're seriously considering it? Remember, Hubris is the sin most frowned upon by the go-" Harry cut off the stream of words with his mouth.

Draco resisted for all of two seconds, then he was kissing back with a ferocity that was almost as frightening as it was exhilarating. It wasn't the right time, and it certainly wasn't the right place, and there probably wasn't _anything _'right' about it, but that passion was irresistible, as was his heat, his scent, his taste…and Harry was discovering just how many nerve endings his skin possessed as Draco slid his hands under his t-shirt.

"Invisible boy, is that you?"

The plaintive little voice barely registered with Harry. He pushed Draco against the cabinet - and got a shock when Draco shoved him back, frantically untangling himself from the folds of the cloak.

"Cassiopeia?"

Harry watched him drop to his knees and reach behind the cabinet.

"This is _filthy_," Draco muttered. "Mother should have those house-elves whipped more often…" That sentence was the perfect passion-killer - until he glanced over his shoulder at Harry and grinned. "Just joking. After all - whipping wouldn't make the little bastards any less lazy."

"Who _is_ that? Where's Invisible Boy? I heard him -"

"I'm here," Harry said, as Draco pulled the little portrait out from behind the cabinet. He carefully wiped the dust from it and beamed down at the little girl, who was peering up at him suspiciously.

"I thought Father had had all your portraits destroyed," he said. "Mother must have saved one."

"Draco?" The hope in her voice was painful to hear; Harry felt like he was intruding on a private moment. Draco nodded, still grinning, and she let out a squeal of delight that was painful in a different way.

Draco pretended to rub at his ears. "Calm down, Cass - you're going to burst my ear-drums."

"You're all grown up!"

"It happens."

"Not to me, it seems," Cassiopeia said calmly. "Why haven't I got any other portraits?"

"You're dead."

"Oh." She digested that for a moment. Harry was expecting hysterics, but she just nodded, bottom lip trembling. "Right. That makes sense. Why didn't I think of that?"

"You're a portrait," Draco said. "You _don't _think."

"Then _what_ am I doing _now_?"

"What you're supposed to do - being an echo of my big sister for me." He sighed. "In every irritating detail."

Harry aimed his wand at the doors and locked them before he sank down on the floor next to Draco. As he shrugged off the cloak, Cassiopeia's insulted pout turned into a smirk, and Harry wondered why he hadn't realised before. The resemblance went far beyond shared colouring. "Ah - the burglar - nice of you to finally show yourself."

"I told you - I'm not a burglar."

"Of course - you've just got really bad manners. I remember." Draco was starting to grin again, and Harry made a point of ignoring him.

"I need to ask you about the cup - and the man you said took it. Did you know him?" Harry looked up. Draco's amusement had shifted into out-and-out curiosity, and Harry realised just how much trust he was placing in him. _I don't believe he's a spy, whatever everyone else says._

"Not really. I think he was a friend of Father's, but he didn't come around very often. I didn't like him much - he was old and grumpy and greasy and had a big nose. And he looked at me like I was a misbehaved house-elf. Draco used to hide from him."

Draco burst out laughing. "That's almost word-for-word what Pansy said when we were Sorted!" Harry waited for an explanation. Still shaking with laughter, Draco pulled out his wand. The dust on the floor whirled up into the air, forming a face. "Of course, it didn't take long for her to decide that actually he was a complete _god_."

Cassiopeia bounced up and down against her backdrop of summer flowers, all that unnatural Malfoy composure lost, looking for once like a normal little girl as she clapped her hands together in excitement. "Yes! That's him! That's a brilliant likeness! _You're _brilliant!"

"You didn't always think that," Draco said with a grin.

Harry stared at the face of Severus Snape in the dust.

* * *

Draco's mind was whirling as they made their way back to the secret room. He wasn't worried about Potter trying to kiss him again - he had Cassiopeia's portrait under his arm, and that heavy gold frame would make an excellent bludgeon - but he was curious as to what the hell was going on.

_All the travelling, all the sneaking about - it was all just so Potter could ask a portrait some questions about a _cup_? What's so important about a _cup_?_

_Maybe it's some ancient and terrible weapon that Potter can use to defeat the Dark Lord…a very well-disguised one… Or a cup he can drink from to boost his power so he can defeat the Dark Lord… Or maybe drinking from it will make him immortal - I've heard legends about goblets like that…_

"What did this cup look like, then?" he whispered to Cassiopeia as they passed through the false panel. Potter started to untangle himself from the cloak, and Draco was glad to finally get some distance between them. The moody bastard had been scowling away to himself ever since he'd seen Snape's picture, and he glared at the echoes on the bed as if they were doing it to personally offend him.

"Big and gold with the cutest little badger crest," Cassiopeia said.

Draco's feet knocked against something. He looked down.

The ropes he'd used to bind Wolf-boy were laying in so many stretched and snapped pieces on the floor.

_This isn't good…_

* * *


	20. Chapter 11

A/N - ok, this is a hell of a long chapter. And I'm not so sure in my head where the line between R and um, a higher rating, is. If I've slipped over it and you don't think it's appropriate, feel free to shout at me. Or something. ;) X

* * *

11.

"Oh, shit…"

Harry looked back at Draco, and almost echoed his exclamation as he saw the snapped rope. He could hardly believe he hadn't noticed it himself - his anger at Snape, and at yet another trail going cold, was no excuse for letting his guard down.

But there was no time for self-recrimination - whether the kid had been found or had escaped, the alarm had surely been raised…

Harry grabbed the cloak from Draco and headed for the window and the broomstick. "Move!" Draco blinked. As Harry clambered out of the window, he broke the grip of whatever thoughts had been keeping him still and staring at the rope, and hurried to follow him.

The door was flung open.

As it slammed into the wall, and daylight flooded into the room, Draco virtually leapt for the window. Harry caught his arm and tried to haul him through, but the room was suddenly filled with people, and there were other hands on Draco, trying to drag him back, and Harry with him. Harry gagged at the overwhelming smell of old blood and unwashed flesh, but he braced his feet against the windowsill, even more determined not to let go. He pulled out his wand and sent a couple of stunning spells into the crowd.

For a moment, Draco was free, and the cotton of his t-shirt caught and tore on the latch as he tried to pull himself through.

"Behind you!" Harry twisted around, and saw dark figures creeping across the tiles. He pointed his wand at the nearest one; it ducked out of sight behind a chimneystack, and a sudden jerk on his arm as Draco was dragged back sent his hex flying wide. His foot knocked against the broomstick; it rolled across the tiles and disappeared off the edge of the roof.

"Potter!" Draco had broken a couple of fingernails resisting that last attempt to get him inside, and his straining fingers were leaving streaks of blood on the window ledge as he was slowly pulled back. His eyes were wild with panic, but his voice was steady as he said, "you're above the main doors, Potter - do you understand?"

Harry didn't. He couldn't see how that particular fact was even interesting, much less useful. He'd lost the broomstick, he was losing Draco, and he knew damn well where he was - out on the roof, being stalked by werewolves.

"You'd better fucking come back for me," Draco said, and let go of his hand.

Draco disappeared, but Harry didn't have time to wonder why, after fighting so hard, he'd just given up, because, without Draco to pull against, Harry was falling, all the force he'd put into hauling him free suddenly working against him.

His back and head hit the tiles with painful force, and the sky span above him as he slid down the roof. He flailed about with his arms, trying to catch hold of something - anything -

- for a second, Harry managed to hook a couple of fingers in the guttering, and in that one moment of not falling, he realised what Draco had been trying to tell him - and just how mad the other boy was.

Visitors came to the Manor's front doors - that was the only place apart from the walled garden that the wards allowed Apparition. But if Draco thought that Harry could Disapparate in mid-air, then he really was insane. Apparition was hard enough standing on solid ground with time to think…

His fingers burned with pain - he had to either let go of the gutter or let go of his wand to get a better grip - and there was a man in tattered robes crouching on the edge of the roof, reaching down to him.

He repeated Destination, Determination, Deliberation to himself like a mantra, and let go of the gutter.

* * *

Draco swung the portrait like a club, trying to buy some time and space to get to his wand. He heard Cassiopeia's horrified squeak as the frame splintered against someone's head, and then he was down, overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Long fingernails hooked in his t-shirt, tearing it to get to the wand tucked into the waistband of his trousers.

Draco had seen a man disembowelled - the memory of that, of his skin opening, organs flopping out, intestines pouring out of his body like he was giving birth to gory snakes, merged with the scrape of those long, sharp nails against the soft skin of his belly… He whimpered, and mentally slapped himself.

He told himself to get a grip, and it seemed to work - for about ten seconds, until he felt a nose pressed up against his stomach, breathing in his scent. Someone else sniffed at his hair, another sniffed at the sensitive inside of his elbow, a face was buried in his neck and his t-shirt was ripped further as the other werewolves tried to get skin to smell.

The fear froze his internal organs and wiped his mind blank of everything but panic.

"Nice of you to come and join us, pup. I was starting to think I'd have to hunt you down."

The amused voice belonged to Fenrir Greyback. _And isn't that just the rotten cherry on top of the nightmare sundae? _He felt anger well up inside of him and almost revelled in it.

"Get them off me! Now!"

"They're just being friendly," Greyback said, a hint of reproof in amongst the amusement.

"Well, I _was_ brought up not to be rude." Draco heard the icy contempt in his own voice and was both shocked and proud. Swinging erratically between cold fear and blind fury - how could he sound so calm? "But I was also brought up not to let people sniff at my armpits. You see my problem?"

Greyback's laughter boomed out in the tiny room. "Let him up."

Draco let himself breathe as the werewolves got to their feet. Without their heat and weight and _smell_ holding him down, he felt suddenly light, even if his skin was still trying to crawl off his body. He hauled himself to his feet, and it took every inch of self-control he had to stand there in the middle of the room, head held high, rather than cowering in the corner.

"I'm on a mission for the Dark Lord," he said, forcing himself to meet Greyback's eyes. "If you interfere he's going to very angry."

Greyback licked his lips. Draco recognised the theatrical gesture for what it was - done purely to make him uncomfortable - but the knowledge didn't stop his stomach twisting. "Now, what kind of 'mission for the Dark Lord' could possibly involve Harry Potter?"

"A very secret one."

"Really?" Draco had forgotten just how fast Greyback could move. Before Draco could react, he was right up in front of him, hand clamped around the back of his neck, nose pressed against the curve of his jaw. "You lie so easily. Your mouth lies, your face lies, your eyes lie, even your posture lies - but your scent doesn't. It can't. You're _terrified…_"

Greyback's grip was too tight, and he smelt worse then any of his minions. Draco squirmed in his grasp. The room seemed much too small to hold all those people. Draco looked around the circle of werewolves. Thin faces, square faces, handsome faces, ugly faces, young faces, old faces - all different, not all of them gloating, but all of them Greyback's followers, and all, at that moment, monstrous.

* * *

Harry coughed and spluttered and tried to wave away the cloud of chalk dust thrown up by his rather uncoordinated Apparition. He slumped down in the middle of the White Horse and, shaking, started to check his body for anything that he might have left behind. He had a bad moment as he looked down and saw that his left arm was cut off at the elbow.

As his heartbeat finally started to slow, and he unwrapped the invisibility cloak from his arm, he felt a strange exhilaration creep over him.

_I did it. I'm alive, not splinched, and I fucking did it…_

He collapsed back against the chalk. The 'Hell, I'm good' feeling was tempered by cold facts - he had to go back for Draco (he'd just saved Harry's life _again_, even if Harry could have been killed or splinched or broken every bone in his body in the process) and he knew he was miles away from the house. _And back outside the wards - god knows if they'll even let me back through…_

_The werewolves came in through the garden door - I'd be pushing my luck to Apparate back there. The front doors…_

There was a certain _rightness _to the thought of just Apparating straight to the front doors of Malfoy Manor, especially after all the sneaking around he'd been forced to do. Not that he planned on marching straight up and ringing the bell - even if he felt like doing just that.

His brain came up with another Draco-voiced note of caution: _Even if you managed to Disapparate in mid-air, that doesn't make you some kind of super-wizard. There's loads of them - even if you haven't seen any of them using magic, it's still seriously bad odds._

Harry shook out the cloak and wrapped it around himself.

_Fine - more sneaking about it is then._

* * *

The sun had sunk to the level of the trees, and shadows of great magical beasts stretched out across the grass from the sculpted topiary. The manicured lawn where Draco's mother had once held court, taking tea with her friends, now held a bonfire, which the werewolves gathered around in friendly little groups.

_Just as long as they're friendly a long way from me._

Draco was being ignored by practically everyone. Not something he was used to, but he was grateful for it. He sat on the grass and tugged on the rope binding his wrists behind his back, trying to get it to loosen, wondering why involuntary magic only happened at embarrassing times, rather than when it was actually needed.

Greyback was trying to order the werewolves about, and getting quite a bit of good-natured disagreement - so much disagreement that Draco had to stop thinking of them as Greyback's minions. No true leader would have such poor control over his followers. Eventually four of them loped off into the woods, apparently to get food, which made Draco wonder what had happened to the Manor's house-elves.

"How're you planning to break them? Are you going to use magic?" Draco twisted around, and saw the little boy - the book-destroyer and escape-artist himself - crouched down beside him. The boy peered at him, malice warring with curiosity in his eyes. "Only mum says wizards are helpless without their wands. You certainly _look _helpless."

"You need to work on your Schadenfreude, kid - you're not gloating half as much as you should be."

The boy frowned. "What's shady-freud?"

Draco sighed. He was tied up, apparently about to be doing dinner with a pack of werewolves, and he refused to think about what Greyback might have planned for him later - explaining German words to a kid who couldn't even read was not the best use of his time. "You taking pleasure in my misfortune."

"You did tie _me_ up," the kid said quite reasonably. "And you called me names. You're Pack too - why did you do that?"

Draco stared at him in disbelief. "I am not part of your 'Pack'," he spat. _How the hell am I supposed to explain what Greyback's done to me to a nine-year-old kid? How do you tell a kid that he's a monster?_

Draco's respite was over, however. Greyback loomed over them, and the smile he gave them both would have been benevolent if it hadn't been for the size and sharpness of his teeth. _And how do you get teeth like that, anyway? A enlarging spell and a file? _

The kid got his hair ruffled and he gazed up at his leader in awe and admiration, as if he could only hope to grow up so big and dirty and hairy. Draco got his hair used to yank him to his feet; he used his considerable vocabulary to insult Greyback's looks, parentage, personal hygiene and sexual practices. He could see the little boy watching him, wide-eyed and obviously taking notes, and would have been proud if it hadn't all been bluster, just a way to prevent any humiliating cringing or whimpering.

"Didn't I tell you?" Greyback roared at the other werewolves. "The Dark Lord will give us all that we want!"

It only took one yank on Draco's much-abused t-shirt for the last threads to give way. The whole thing dropped off his shoulders and slipped down his arms, draping over his bound wrists. He tried to suppress the sudden burst of fear with a quick dose of logic. _He's showing them the bite - nothing more, nothing less. _It didn't help, not with Greyback's bulk and heat at Draco's back, the hot breath in his hair seeming almost as much of a threat as the nails scraping against his scalp.

There were only a few women among the werewolves - fewer women than children - but it was one of them that spoke up. "He certainly gave _you_ what you wanted, Fenrir." Tall and lean with a thin, tired face, she looked at Draco with disapproval. "Tell me, how does Lucius Malfoy feel about his son being used as a reward?"

There was a sudden burst of conversation around the bonfire. Draco felt a flicker of annoyance that none of them had recognised him. _But they're not exactly moving at the heights of Wizarding society, are they?_

"How does he feel about his old pile of bricks being our new home, Hel?" Greyback asked. Hel just frowned, and he raised his voice to cut through the chatter. "Lucius Malfoy is _nothing_ - no longer a man to be feared! The Dark Lord punishes those who fail him, and rewards those who do not! He promised us that he'd break the ties that bind us to the moon - and he has! With this boy!" All conversation ceased, and Draco found himself the centre of attention. Not the most comfortable thing to be, in a circle of werewolves. He dug his fingernails into his palms, focusing on the pain, grimly refusing to shrink back as they closed in around him. Shrinking back meant getting closer to Greyback, anyway - and that was a real frying pan or fire choice…

Hel was the first to touch him. Her fingers were gentle, brushing lightly over the scar on his shoulder, but Draco couldn't stop his reflexive flinch. When she spoke, her voice was full of wonder. "Can it be true?"

"He designed the ritual himself, performed the spells himself - and his choice of subject says _everything_ about his intentions. Would he sacrifice one of his precious Purebloods to an experiment he didn't expect to work?"

Draco didn't understand what they were talking about, but he was being touched, light fingers moving almost reverently over his torso, and he was surrounded by bodies, and he couldn't breathe, and how the fuck could he be feeling claustrophobic _outside_?

"The Dark Lord wanted to punish my father and Snape, while still keeping me alive and useful. Giving me to you wasn't a great symbolic gesture - he was just chucking you a bone! And stop touching me! _Please._" The last word came out involuntarily, and so softly Draco didn't think anyone had heard him. But Hel, who'd given him a sharp look on the 'bone' line - probably trying to decide if it was a deliberate jibe - stepped in front of him.

"The hunting party's back," she said cheerfully. "Go eat - you can all fawn over him later."

The crowd dispersed. Draco remembered how to breathe, and gratefully sucked in great gulps of air as he watched the 'hunting party' drag three deer over to the bonfire, their fur glittering in its light. One of them was a big stag, and as its head flopped its alters left furrows in the lawn. The estate's Silver Deer were rare and valuable and hadn't been hunted for over a century - at this rate, they'd be wiped out in a few weeks, gone the same way as Draco's books and what seemed like every ancestral portrait.

"Why are you wasting your pity on this one, Hel?" Greyback asked, sounding genuinely curious. "You hate the Malfoys."

Hel looked at Draco. He looked back, at her matted hair and lined face, and tried to work out why she reminded him of his mother.

"Lucius can burn in Hell," she said calmly. "And when he does, I'll dance on his grave. But I don't have any reason to hate his son - not yet, at least."

She seemed reasonable - much too reasonable to be following Greyback. A possible ally? "The Dark Lord won't give you what you want," Draco said quickly. "You're weapons to him, nothing more - just another set of Dark Creatures to do his bidding."

"He's a wizard," Hel said. "Treachery and bigotry is all we expect from him. We'll get what we want by our own sweat and blood. We're weapons to him? Well, he's a just a tool to us."

"Well said." Greyback rested his free hand against Draco's neck, gently, not even actively touching him. It was far from being a threat, but Draco's entire body tensed up. The fight-or-flight reflex seemed almost like a mockery - he was tied up, how could he do either? As the sun dropped further in the sky, and the western horizon was suddenly ablaze with colour, Draco tried not to think about another sunset, watching the sky burn through the slit that was the cell's pathetic excuse for a window, trying to look resigned and obedient as the chains were looped around his neck, his wrists, his ankles -

A handful of steaming meat was suddenly thrust in front of his face. "I got the liver!" Wolf-boy, destroyer of books and, apparently, dissector of dead animals, said proudly. "Do you want some?"

Draco shook his head slowly, watching the blood dribble down the boy's stubby little fingers.

"Don't eat it like that, Rolf!" Hel said sharply. "I'll cook it for you -"

"_Cook_ it?" Greyback echoed. His laugh rumbled through Draco's body. "What are you, Hel - a warrior or a Muggle house-wife? Let the boy eat!" His hand moved from Draco's neck, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing, because Draco had to watch him ruffle Rolf's hair again, and this time it was softer, slower, almost like a caress… "He's going to grow up big and strong…"

"Rolf!" Hel caught hold of the boy's arm and pulled him away. "Stop bothering Uncle Fenrir."

"Oh, _mum_…" Suddenly Rolf didn't seem quite so alien. Even chewing raw meat, blood around his mouth, he was just a little boy being embarrassed by his mother.

"He's not bothering me at _all_, Hel," Greyback said.

Hel looked at him, expression hard but eyes almost pleading. "Play with your trophy, Fenrir." She didn't say anything else, but her meaning was clear. _And leave my son alone. _

Which of course was throwing Draco to the wolves - literally. _Stupid woman - couldn't you have let Rolf divert him for just a little while longer?_

"You shouldn't eat raw meat," he said, hoping to stir the disagreement into open conflict. "You can catch all kinds of things - and why would you want to, anyway? You're not animals."

"Not animals? You really believe that?" Greyback snorted with laughter. "Listen to the boy lie, Hel, and tell me he's not his father's son."

But she was no longer paying attention. Instead she delicately sniffed the air, and Greyback followed her lead; Draco felt him take in a great big gulp of air. Then he roared with laughter, and Draco had a sudden suspicion - both horrified and hopeful at the same time. He looked over to where Cassiopeia's portrait was laying on the grass, discarded by Greyback after a couple of perfunctory questions. As he watched, the portrait disappeared - as if someone had slipped it underneath an invisibility cloak…

Greyback made a quick gesture, and there were no disagreements now - silence and stillness spread out through the Pack with miraculous speed. Almost as one, they turned to look at the patch of grass where the portrait had been. The sudden silence was broken only by the crackling of the bonfire - and the sound of the dry grass crunching under invisible feet.

Greyback finally let go of his hair, and Draco pulled away, pathetically grateful for even that little bit of distance. Then he saw Greyback slip his wand from his robes…

* * *

Harry tucked the portrait under his arm. Cassiopeia seemed aware of the danger, and thankfully kept quiet. But that was the easy bit. He looked over to Draco, wondering how the hell he was going to get to him, much less get him away. He could hardly pick _him_ up and slip him under the cloak.

Greyback finally let go of Draco's hair, and some part of Harry abruptly relaxed. He was surprised by the depth of his relief - after all, he'd hardly been holding a sword to his throat, had he? What kind of threat was a hand in his hair?

Harry suddenly became aware of the silence. In it, his heart beat sounded like a bass drum being pounded by an overenthusiastic drummer.

"Look out!" Despite his bound hands, Draco lunged at Greyback. Harry saw the wand - but it was too late to do anything but throw up a shield charm…and completely give away his position.

The other werewolves moved. He got off three stunning spells before there was weight on his back, bearing him to the ground. The cloak was torn from his body; a foot stamped down on his hand, forcing him to release his wand. Then he was flipped over onto his back, and the werewolf who had originally taken him down straddled him. Harry felt the prick of her long fingernails against his cheek, remembered Bill's fate, and froze.

"Good boy," she said, readjusting his twisted glasses. Her face came into focus, all kindly smile and hard eyes. "Play nice and I won't infect you - how's that for an offer?"

Harry couldn't even nod without getting scratched. He found his eyes focusing on something that swung free of the neck of her robe - a broken piece of wood, something bright and silver gleaming at its core. He recognised it as the snapped-off tip of a wand - but why was she wearing that around her neck?

"This had better be part of a cunning plan, Potter." Draco came into view, dragged over by Greyback, the werewolf's hand now clamped firmly around his pale throat.

_God, I really wish it was…_

"Isn't that obvious?" Harry said, trying to sound confident. "You're so smart - work it out." Draco wouldn't be able to work out a plan that didn't exist, of course, but he _was _smart - he might be able to think of something. Of course, if Draco did have an idea that got them both out of this, then he'd be well ahead of Harry in the life-saving tally… It was a stupid thing to worry about at a time like this, but it made Harry rack his brains for a plan.

"He doesn't lie as well as you," Greyback said to Draco. Harry noticed the way he was leaning away from the werewolf, trying to get some distance, and felt a sudden stab of anger. Bruises were blooming on Draco's cheek, and someone - probably Greyback - had gone for the ultimate sacrilege and bust open his lip.

"That's just part of Potter's cunning," Draco said. "He's _pretending _to lie."

"Really." Greyback put his wand away, and Harry felt a flicker of hope - quickly squashed as his hand dropped onto Draco's shoulder. All he did was give it a light squeeze, but Draco flinched. The sight made Harry feel even angrier. Greyback's hands were filthy, every line and callous black with grime, and Draco looked so fragile…

- and yes, Draco did have all those scars to show he wasn't fragile at all - that he'd survived worse than being groped by a werewolf, but it didn't change the way Harry felt. It was like watching a tramp cooing over a fine piece of porcelain, knowing any second it could shatter in his clumsy fingers.

"So, he's pretending to want you as well, is he?" Greyback virtually purred. His fingers moved downwards, nails raising red welts on Draco's fair skin. "Pretending to be jealous?" Harry wasn't jealous. Yes, he would've gladly put his hands where Greyback's were, but he would never want Draco to look at him like _that_, revulsion, pain and hatred all mixed together in a particularly venomous cocktail. "He's _good_."

His fingers moved lower, dug into Draco's belly so hard that those dirt-encrusted nails drew blood, peeled back skin… Harry's captor slammed her hand down around his throat, as if guessing a mere threat wouldn't be enough to keep him down now. As he fought against her grip, Harry saw the look of open disgust she threw at her leader. "Help us," he hissed. The only response he got was the tightening of her fingers around his throat.

Greyback slipped his fingers under the waistband of Draco's jeans. The female werewolf flung her whole weight on top of Harry to hold him down - and whispered in his ear. "Offer us a hunt. Talk yourself up - make it impossible for Fenrir to resist."

Draco gave a sharp cry of pain. When Harry looked up, he saw Greyback holding up a couple of almost translucent curls up to the light of the fire. They still had a little tag of flesh attached, and Harry winced and felt the urge to cross his legs in sympathy. "I wonder," Greyback said, sounding almost friendly, "will your pelt will be white when you change?"

"You know what," Harry said loudly. "I _am _good. Maybe not at lying, but I can fight my way out of anything - just ask Voldemort." And that was a good one - Harry had always been embarrassed by his reputation, but maybe finally he could put it to some use. "You only caught me because I was being careless." He managed a shrug. "I underestimated you. It won't happen again."

"Damn right it won't," his captor snarled, but her fingers squeezed into his shoulder. He took it as encouragement. Greyback was staring at him, his attention finally diverted from Draco.

"It's ridiculous, really - I've gotten away from Voldemort so many times. How did I get captured by a bunch of scruffy werewolves? It had to be my own carelessness."

"And fucking arrogance," Draco said. His voice shook, but as Harry met his eyes, he caught a familiar gleam.

_I should have known he'd catch on quick. Come on, Draco, help me with this. _

"It's not arrogance," Harry said, trying to sound as arrogant as he could. "I could take any of you."

"Really," Greyback said.

"I could prove it to you - but, obviously, you're not going to let me."

"You fucked up, Potter - grow up and deal with it." Draco still had Greyback's hand around his throat, but he managed a smirk for Harry. "Do you really think they're going to let you go just so they can have the pleasure of chasing you around the grounds, dodging hexes? Werewolves are supposed to be good at hunting, but not that good."

"They're just scared of me." Harry glared at Greyback, who was looking amused. "Last time I fought _that _one, he came off worse."

"You think a simple body-bind is _worse_, little boy?" Greyback bared his teeth. "I'll show you _worse_…" His voice dropped. "I'll break your body, scar your mind - you'll remember me for the rest of your _life_… Let him stand, Hel."

"You're not seriously considering hunting him, are you, Fenrir?" she said, and if Harry was any judge, that little tremor of worry and disbelief in her voice would be just the thing to -

"_Let him stand_."

"But, the Dark Lord -"

"Need never know."

Hel stood up, and Harry scrambled to his feet. "Draco too," he said, and when Greyback hesitated, he moved his face into what he hoped was a convincing sneer. Draco's sudden snort of laughter - hurriedly cut off - told him that it wasn't. "Come on - don't you want to make this _interesting_?"

"You really think you're going to get away," Greyback said slowly. Then he laughed and flung Draco towards Harry; Harry staggered as he caught him, and fumbled with the bindings on his wrists. "Enjoy his company while you can."

There was a flash of red light and both the bindings and the torn remnants of Draco's t-shirt dropped to the floor, smoking. Hel looked at the wand in her hand for a moment, the expression on her face almost wistful, then offered it to Harry. She snapped her fingers at one of the other werewolves and gave him a long glare; he grudgingly offered up Draco's wand. Draco snatched it off him.

"_Hel! _What are you _doing_? If this is your idea of a challenge -" Greyback's rage was awesome to behold; Hel just met his glare and shrugged.

"Not at all. It's their only defence, Fenrir - it's only fair."

"_Fair?_"

"Surely you're not afraid to even the odds?" Hel said quietly. "_You _can't be afraid of two young wizards."

Greyback looked around at his wolves; Harry watched him forcibly swallow his anger. _There's more going on here than just a difference of opinion…_

"Then, 'to even the odds' -" he ground out the words with contempt "- the entire Pack should join in the hunt."

"As you wish. It's a good idea, actually - those stupid deer barely provide us with exercise, much less a challenge." Harry watched Hel's face brighten up at the thought of the hunt and realised that there would be no more help from that quarter. "Louve, Leikn - go to the front doors. Quirinus, Lucan - the walled garden." She caught hold of Harry's arm. "Do you truly count Remus Lupin as a friend, despite his nature and yours?" The sudden change in both the subject and her attitude made Harry's head whirl, but he nodded. "And you desire this one?" She waved a hand at Draco.

_Why is it suddenly everyone's fucking business? _Harry's cheeks burned, and he carefully avoided meeting Draco's eyes as he nodded again.

"Then you're truly an unusual wizard and I wish you luck."

_Luck is nice, but I'd rather have some more help… _

But as she stepped away, taking her place among her people, Harry realised that she'd already done more than he had any right to expect.

"Despite everything Remus said about hating wizards, it was clear he held you in great regard, Harry Potter. We'll give you a ten minute head start. Fight well. Make him proud."

Harry looked around the circle of werewolves. Ten minutes head start - it had taken them that long to get across the estate on a _broom_. The werewolves were faster, stronger, knew the estate, and were presumably _very _good at tracking.

On the plus side, he had his wand back, and he had Draco - who he hoped knew the estate even better than they did.

He Accioed over the invisibility cloak and the portrait, and was dimly aware of Draco going into his fighting stance beside him.

"Your time is already running out, pup," Greyback said. He looked at the wand pointed at him as if it was a minor thing, hardly worth his time to notice. "Try to kill me or run with your little friend - you can't do both."

Harry looked around again. Every single gaze except his was on Draco, the air was thick with tension, and Harry got a sudden glimpse of the future.

The Dark Mark on Draco's arm seemed to flex and wriggle as he slashed his wand through the air. Harry flung himself at him, caught hold of his hand; he was almost blinded by the flash of green light, and the sound of the spell in flight was like a thousand bad memories rushing through the air.

"What are you _doing_?" Draco shook himself free of Harry's grip. "Why -"

"You're better than that!"

Harry's interference had sent the killing curse wide of its target, but Greyback had thrown himself to the floor anyway. He spat out grass and glared up at them both. "Fuck the head start," he growled. "Run. _Now_."

Did severely pissing Greyback off count as a plus? _Probably not_.

Despite his apparent desire to kill Greyback, Draco didn't take much dragging into movement. A few strides and he was ahead, actually pulling Harry along. Harry thought uncharitably that running away had always been something Draco was good at.

* * *

Draco had poured most of his anger and fear into the failed killing curse; there was very little of either left to cloud his mind as he sprinted across the lawn.

_If we'd had more time, we could have covered our tracks, used that cloak of Potter's and a bit of lateral thinking, and maybe made it to the edge of the wards. As it is, there's only one way out now…_

Their way appeared blocked by a long hedge. Draco caught hold of Potter's arm and ran straight towards it.

Behind them, someone started to howl. Draco was sure he could hear running feet pounding across the grass, but he dismissed it as his imagination - how could he hear _anything _over the staccato throb of his pulse in his ears?

The hedge rippled, opened up for them, and, there, they had some space. The maze would open up for the werewolves just as readily, but deposit them in a different place.

The sun was too low; hardly any of its light found its way through the hedges, and its absence turned the quiet pathway into a trench of gloom and deep shadows. Potter looked around at the walls of holly surrounding them. He ran his hand over the prickly leaves, hardly out of breath. "This should even things up a bit," he said calmly. "Are we trying to get to the centre, or trying to get them lost?"

_Of course, this will be old hat to him, after fourth year. _This maze was a toy compared to the one Potter had had to navigate then, designed for lazy summer afternoon wanderings and moonlight trysts. The forbidding-looking hedges were all for show - they'd try hard enough to stop you from getting to the centre, but would also let you out easily enough if you got bored.

"The centre, definitely, but trying not to get lost ourselves would be a good start. _Reperio centre_." A thin line of light shot out of his wand, cutting through the gloom and disappearing off around a corner. Potter looked at it, and then Draco; one eyebrow disappeared beneath his messy hair. "I could never see the attraction of just wandering around."

"I thought you said you liked puzzles," Potter said as they started to follow the light. "I ought to have known you'd cheat."

They rounded the corner. "It's not cheating." The hedges rustled around them, and promptly moved so that the line of light ran straight into a solid wall of leaves. "See? It's just trying for a tiny little advantage." Draco cast the spell again; this time the light ran straight into a very solid werewolf.

Potter's stunning spell cut it off in mid-howl.

Draco was really starting to appreciate Potter's presence in life-and-death situations.

The hedge beside them rustled and shook - as if someone was trying to climb it. Another howl went up, sounding much too close. He reminded himself that they stood a better chance in the maze than out on the open ground, but that didn't change his feelings about the confined space. The pathway seemed to be getting narrower, the shadows on it seemed like living things; Draco broke into a run.

With every step, he begged the old maze not to impede their progress. A dark shape burst through a hedge in front of him; he stunned it without even thinking, without even slowing down. The howls were coming from all around them now, and when he repeated the locating spell, it was with more than a touch of panic. His brain said they'd been running for just a few minutes; the tightness in his chest and weakness in his knees said more like a few hours -

They rounded a corner, and he was suddenly blinking in light and rejoicing in open space. The little folly at the centre of the maze was set in its own little garden, surrounded by flowers that nature intended to only grow on cliff tops, but Draco ignored the beauty of the scene. The flowers weren't important, the way the warm light of the setting sun lit up the folly's delicate marble pillars wasn't important. What was important was what lay inside the little 'temple'.

Their way out.

Draco could smell the sea as he climbed the steps. He heard Potter comment on it nervously, but ignored him too.

He picked up a smooth black stone from the floor of the folly and touched it to his bloodied mouth. There was movement beyond the pillars; a quick glance out into the garden showed about five werewolves loping through the flowers. Draco caught Potter's hand. The stone felt icy cold between their palms - a cold that burned, sending numbness creeping through skin.

His body felt as if it was being stretched like elastic - then it was released, every molecule snapping back together at their destination.

"Well, that was different." The stone dropped as Potter released his hand. "What was that? Some kind of Portkey? And where are we?"

He heard Cassiopeia pipe up with a delighted "the seaside, silly!" her voice somewhat muffled by Potter's arm. Draco didn't look at him.

They were safe. They couldn't possibly have been followed. Hell, even Draco's father didn't know about this particular property of the folly - the werewolves certainly wouldn't either.

_We're safe. _His brain knew it, but his body didn't seem to. He was shaking, and he could still _smell _the werewolves, and all he could think as he looked around the cave, at dripping, much-too-close walls and pools of water looking like blood in the rays of the setting sun, was that this would be a hell of a place to get caught in an ambush…

He pushed past Potter, almost running for the ruins silhouetted in the mouth of the cave. Out there probably wouldn't be any safer, but there was light, and open space, and -

Draco felt seaweed squelch under his foot, that foot slid out from beneath him, then - with a splash and the painful impact of his arse against stone - one leg was thigh-deep in water.

Salt-water, warmed to almost body heat by the afternoon sun, turned the scratches on his arms and torso into a mass of wonderful, cleansing pain as he let himself slide down into the rock pool. Some creature with too many legs scuttled out from beneath him as he hit the bottom, curling up to get his head under the water. He closed his eyes, let his nostrils fill with water, tried to imagine it washing the grime of all those touching, grabbing hands from his skin…

* * *

Harry felt his heart beat gradually slowing down, his body acknowledging the end of the chase. He had no idea where he was, or how they'd been transported from the little folly in the maze to this cave by the sea, but he decided he could worry about that later, when he'd come to terms with his good luck.

As he moved into the mouth of the cave, past the few spikes of worn stonework that were the last remains of what could once have been a great building, he let himself be lulled by the sound of the surf breaking on the beach. The sea sparkled under a sky that seemed almost on fire, and Harry stared at the beauty of it. Malfoy Manor and the werewolves - hell, even the war - all seemed very far away.

Draco pushed past him. When he slipped and half-fell into the rock pool, it should have been a chance for both of them to have a laugh and relax - but Draco slid down into the water. His head disappeared under the surface.

Harry carefully put down the portrait and the cloak, and tucked his wand into the back pocket of his jeans. He clambered over the rocks, careful not to make the same mistake, half expecting Draco to surface at any second, laughing at Harry's concern.

He didn't. When Harry got to the pool, Draco was curled up in a ball beneath the water, eyes tightly shut.

"What -?" Harry reached in to grab at his arm; Draco reacted as if he was being attacked, frantically batting Harry's hand away.

_What the hell's wrong with him?_

Trying to drag Draco out of the pool got Harry a elbow in the face and a mouthful of water for his trouble, but he refused to be put off. _What's he trying to do? Drown himself? _He caught hold of a handful of Draco's hair and pulled his head out of the water.

Even coughing and spluttering and trying to gasp in air, he was still fighting. Harry ducked a wild swing and grabbed Draco's arms. It took all his strength to haul him out onto the rocks, and even then he was trying to knock Harry's hands away, rubbing at his body as if to wipe away every trace of his touch.

_God - he's shaking… _"It's _me_, for fuck's sake!"

"Can still _smell_ them," Draco muttered.

_The werewolves? I know he was scared, but - _"They're gone," Harry said. He didn't know what was going through Draco's head, and a hug was probably the last thing he wanted, but Harry wrapped his arms around him, and held on despite the struggles. He felt Draco's body shake, and listened to his gasped breaths, and had never felt so helpless in his entire life. "We're alone. You don't have to be scared."

Draco went still for a moment, then he laughed - a bitter, painful laugh that had no humour in it. He buried his face in Harry's neck and took a deep breath, as if he was trying to suck the very scent of him down into his lungs. "Maybe you should be," he whispered. The brush of his lips against the sensitive skin behind Harry's ear sent a sweet little shiver down his spine. "I might be able to wash Greyback's filth from my skin, but it's inside me as well - in my blood." That caused a shiver of a completely different kind, and Harry jerked away before he could help himself. "That's right, Potter - get well away."

Harry's gaze was irresistibly drawn to the scar on Draco's shoulder. He stared at it in sick fascination. _God - why didn't I realise? That must have been what Draco and Lupin were arguing about… And Greyback's been all over him tonight, virtually mauling him - no wonder he's shaken up…_

"He bit you?" Harry said slowly. The shock and horror were burned away by anger, as hot and hard as any he'd ever felt. It fizzed in his brain, telling him to strike out and destroy. "Attacked you?" _I'm going to kill him…_

Draco curled his lip. "You can tell Lupin that I'm no longer in denial. I'm sure he'll be pleased."

"Tell him yourself."

"Surely you don't still want me around? You've seen what I'm going to become." He put his hand up to Harry's face. His fingernails dug into Harry's skin, deliberately echoing Hel's earlier threat. "Or do you think it's sexy? Knowing just one accidental scratch or bite could make you a freak even amongst the freaks? Not changing, but still thinking and feeling like a wolf -"

Harry took hold of his hand, looking at the long, deceptively-delicate fingers. "You mean I'd still look human, but inside I'd be a good-natured, social creature who only kills for food?" Harry said, as calmly as he could manage with the anger still burning inside him, begging him to go back and confront Greyback. "That doesn't sound so bad." He gave in to temptation and kissed Draco's fingertips with all the gentleness he could muster. They tasted of salt-water. "And you could _never_ be like them."

Draco snatched his hand back. "I don't want your fucking pity," he snarled.

Harry blinked and stared at him in confusion, some of that anger switching targets. For once, Draco wasn't trying to hide his emotions - he looked hurt and angry. _What the fuck did I _say_? I was just trying to be comforting!_

"Good! Because you're not going to get any!"

Draco slid away from him, scrambling down over the rocks onto the sand. Harry stared at his retreating back, trying not to let his eyes follow the hollowed valley of his backbone down to where the extra weight of the water was causing the denim to slide down over the curves of his arse. The scar on his back was livid and painful-looking, and Harry focused on that instead. _He's fucking impossible. Even when I'm being nice he treats me like I'm a complete bastard._

"I'm only trying to help!" Harry jumped down onto the sand. A couple of long strides and he caught up with Draco next to one of the broken pieces of stonework. He grabbed hold of his arm and swung him around. The sand and the bleached stones were tinted with the same gold and red as the sky, and the dying sunlight cast its warm colours into Draco's hair and softened his sharp angles and hard lines with golden highlights and soft shadows. And maybe it was all fake - the sunlight making him seem beautiful, just as Harry's curiosity and need for an ally made him seem like a fascinating, if infuriating, friend - but, right at that moment, it didn't matter.

Harry caught him in his arms - and narrowly avoided a head butt that could easily have broken his nose.

* * *

Draco found himself shoved hard against the stonework, Potter's fingers digging into his bare shoulders, messy, open-mouthed kisses being pressed against his forehead, his cheek, his mouth, his chin, his neck…

"Does this seem like _pity_ to you?" Potter said. The heat of his breath against Draco's damp skin, and the reaction it got - every inch of skin on his body suddenly, humiliatingly, hyper-sensitive and tingling, his muscles tensing, his heart trying to pound its way out of his chest, his cock straining against wet denim - made the words almost irrelevant. One hand slid up over his shoulder, palm caressing the line of his neck, and he threw his head back, pathetically eager for the touch. Potter followed it with his mouth, his lips lingering over the pulse point in Draco's neck as if he could taste the blood thundering beneath the skin. "Does it?"

Draco buried his face in hair that was all tufts and waves and randomly-placed spikes that tickled and prickled his skin. Potter's scent might be a mix of blood and sweat and arousal, but it was totally human. _Potter _was human - stupidly, painfully so, his body hard and warm and trembling, his breathing laboured as he demanded again, "_does it?_" He was warm, and hungry, and scared, and strong - and just another pawn in the game, that fragile human flesh so easy to break, scar, _destroy…_ Greyback could tear Potter apart with one blow, the Dark Lord could snuff out his life with one curse…

"Does i-" Once again, words were cut off by a kiss. This time it hurt; Draco's scalp burned as Potter tugged at his hair, pain to match that in his swollen lip as their mouths slammed together.

The sky was vast above them, the sea merging into it at the distant horizon - all the open space Draco could ever need…and he closed his eyes against it. He leaned into the kiss, lips parting eagerly at the first tentative touch of Potter's tongue. Then he caught hold of Potter's hands and moved them over his body, until Potter finally got the idea and started touching him, touching him everywhere, clumsy and hurried, much-too-hard fingers and calloused palms. One kiss became two, became three. And Potter was moaning into his mouth, hoarse, desperate sounds that he could almost feel deep inside his body. The rock he could feel grinding into his thigh was Potter's erection. In retaliation, Draco shoved one of Potter's hands down to his crotch.

He had a sudden moment of shamed clarity as Potter froze and pulled back - _of course, I should have fucking known - _then fingers were fumbling at the buttons of his fly, and Potter's lips slammed back against his, and his damp trousers were suddenly sliding down over his thighs. The hand that closed around his cock felt almost possessive -

Potter jerked against him, his grip tightening until it was almost painful. Draco swallowed Potter's startled whimper, felt the denim against his thigh become suddenly wet, and broke, his body jerking like unravelling elastic as he just…let go…

He opened his eyes, and saw the flaming colours of the sky reflected in Potter's glasses and the wide, wonder-filled eyes beneath them.

"God, god, god." Potter collapsed against him, flushed and panting. He kissed Draco's shoulder, and ran slick fingertips along his collarbone. And suddenly, with all the speed and force of a rogue bludger, reality hit. He was naked - ok, so his feet and ankles were still covered, but that hardly counted as 'clothed', did it? - and he had Harry fucking Potter draped over him like an extremely scruffy cloak, hand still on his cock, mouth smeared with Draco's blood. They were out in the open - only half a mile from the castle and Voldemort.

And he'd just let Potter get him off. Not even 'let', really - more like demanded; Potter had seemed happy enough to oblige, but - did it count as surrender if he'd virtually forced Potter to touch him?

The old stonework was rough against Draco's back and arse, and showed no sign of conveniently opening to swallow him up. Potter's shirt was starting to stick to his chest - and wasn't that a disgusting thought - the two of them stuck together like this forever…_bound together by dried come…nice…_

Draco felt sick, but his cock twitched hopefully.

"For fuck's sake!"

He shoved Potter away from him.

* * *

Exhaustion trickled down Harry's limbs. Part of him just wanted to go to sleep, wrapped around Draco's warmth. Part of him wanted to keep touching, to run his hands over Draco's damp skin and feel him come back to pounding, passionate life.

Draco cursed and shoved him away. His knees still felt weak, and he staggered and collapsed onto the sand.

"Well, that was short and sweet." One sentence, delivered with just an edge of contempt, was enough to chase away the lust. Harry sat there, suddenly mortified, as Draco retrieved his wand from the sand and cast a quick cleansing spell on himself.

_Maybe I did come too fast - but he was right behind me._

Draco pulled up his trousers, almost shaking with injured dignity. "We've wasted enough time," he said, his voice cold. "You should clean yourself up before we go. You can't turn up at a 'Grand Hotel' with come-stains on your shirt - it's just not _done_."

* * *


	21. Chapter 12

**12.**

The sea was tamer here, the sound of the surf a seductive murmur rather than a challenging roar. The cliffs weren't sheer walls of rock, but were wrapped in greenery, a zigzagging pathway leading Harry and Draco up through rock grottos to a cliff-top road lined with hotels.

The hotels were all huge Victorian confections. Lights glowed behind their many windows, and snatches of laughter and conversation drifted over to Harry as he stood on the roadside. He still could hear the music from the fairground on the beach-front below.

They were back in the real world. Back to human beings, and all their problems. If not straight back into the war, then back to a place where it could catch up with them.

Draco looked at the hotels with approval. "Well, at least the accommodation is better this time," he said.

"Don't get too optimistic," Harry replied. "I can't imagine Moody picking any of these as a suitable hiding place."

"Don't dash my hopes, Potter. I expect to be put up in the manner to which I'm accustomed." Draco's voice was steady, his tone light, but his words lacked their usual bite. "The Grand Hotel - I wonder which one it is?"

"Um, if I had to guess, I'd say _that _one." Harry pointed. And almost laughed out loud at the expression that settled on Draco's face.

"No. This is a bad joke, it has to be."

No light showed from the windows of the hotel Harry was pointing at - in fact, from what he could see in the failing light, they were firmly boarded up. The high wire fences surrounding the building had signs on them, with the decidedly unwelcoming mottos "Danger - structurally unsound" and "Keep out".

Bits of yellowing paper were stuck to the fence at regular intervals. Harry covertly conjured up a light to read one of them. "'Redevelopment scheduled to start September 1997.' Well, Lupin did say this was only a temporary solution - I suppose this is why."

Draco muttered a couple of choice swear words. He sighed and shrugged; Harry watched lean muscles move beneath smooth skin and abruptly remembered why he felt so awkward. Even with Draco's contempt still so clear in his head, it was so hard to keep himself from reaching out -

Draco stepped smartly out of reach. "Right. _Fine_."

"Draco -" Harry couldn't stop himself from closing the gap, reaching out for Draco. It was all so awkward, but if he could just _touch _him, he was sure it would make everything right again.

The warm skin beneath his fingers turned into rushing air as Draco Disapparated.

The crack was much too loud on the quiet road. Harry found himself being stared at by an old woman walking a dog. He smiled at her and tried to look casual, as if the last thing he wanted to do was break into a condemned building.

The woman frowned at him. Her dog was a tiny terrier, nothing more than a ball of white fluff, but its rage was impressive as it flung itself at him, barking and howling and almost strangling itself on its lead. Harry was rather hurt; he'd always got on well with animals.

The dog suddenly shrank behind its owner's legs, whining. The wire fence behind Harry rattled as if someone was trying to climb it - and the dog took off, almost dragging the poor woman off her feet.

When Harry finally looked around, Draco was hanging off the fence, a strange expression on his face as he watched the dog run off.

"Animals never did like me," he said. He met Harry's eyes for the first time since shoving him away, and his gaze held a challenge.

"They're more sensitive than people," Harry said. He met challenge with challenge, relishing the eye contact - and the heat spreading through his body. The 'W' word seemed to hang in the air between them, just waiting for Harry to say it. He didn't. "They can tell a total git when they see one."

Draco blinked. Then he grinned, flashing strong white teeth. "Shame humans can't. It would save me from a lot of tedious people. And, talking of tedious people, your friends are inside."

* * *

They weren't the only ones inside. The doors must have been Imperturbed, because as Harry and Draco stepped into the hall, they were met with pandemonium. Livia was attending the wounds of a trio of grim-looking men. Two women passed them, carrying boxes of dried herbs and roots. A couple of small children ran about, dodging between the adults' legs. And through the double doors at the end of the hall, Harry could see a giant in the ballroom.

It was spread out unconscious on the polished wooden floor with what seemed to Harry to be almost every current member of the Order gathered around it. He spotted a familiar figure, head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd, and shouted out. "Hagrid!"

* * *

Draco stood and watched as Potter rushed over to the big man, looking like a child in comparison as they hugged. He made no attempt to join him. Hagrid was as scary as the Dark Creatures he liked so much.

The thought gave Draco some cynical amusement. _Hagrid would love _me_ now_. He was pretty certain werewolves fell under Hagrid's definition of 'interesting creatures'.

It was amazing how alone you could feel in a room full of people. He watched them talk, then Weasley was at Potter's side, pulling him away. Potter glanced back at Draco as he was dragged off. Draco kept his expression hard.

_Go away. I don't want to be part of your little band anyway._

It was ridiculous. He didn't want to be anywhere near Potter - the memory of coming in his hands was too fresh, too humiliating - but he still felt abandoned.

His scratches were already closing up, but he sat down next to Livia's patients. "Rough evening?"

She smiled at him. "No more so than yesterday. What's a giant attacking a Muggle army base in comparison to having to fight off a swarm of Dementors? Seaby and Templar here brought him in."

_Muggle army base. _The air in the hall was muggy from the heat of all the candles, but Draco felt cold. "Was he under orders?"

"Who knows? Lupin got Hagrid down to see if he could talk to him, but no one's dared to bring him round. I mean, we've just moved in - we don't want the place wrecked _just_ yet."

Livia's sympathetic gaze swept over him. If her eyes lingered on the Dark Mark longer than was comfortable, at least she didn't say anything. Draco wavered between pride and practicality. After all, dignity was all very well, but sometimes acting a bit pathetic could yield better dividends, especially when it came to girls. And Livia was definitely a girl - older than him, but beautiful, with her copper skin and big dark eyes. All that it needed was a little hint of stiff-upper-lip barely being held in place, a slight hopelessness in the eyes…

Livia laughed. "You know, the sneer and the hard eyes suits you better," she said. She looked at him thoughtfully. "Though it might be no more truthful than the puppy-dog act you're trying to pull on me now."

Draco smiled despite himself. "Slytherin?" he asked.

"Ravenclaw," she said firmly, then conceded, "I dated a Slytherin boy in Sixth Year. I remember all the tricks."

"Not all tricks are _bad_, though, are they? Some tricks can be…_fun_."

"You're very cute, honey, but you're a little too young for me."

Draco shrugged. "It was worth a try." He was only slightly insulted.

"I'm flattered by the obvious intensity of your desire," Livia said wryly. "Sorry I can't return it. But I can get you food, new clothes and a bed to kip in - how does that sound? Better than sex?"

Draco thought about messy, painful kisses, hard fingers pressing into his skin, and hoped he wasn't blushing. And that hadn't even been sex - just getting off. "Depends on the sex," he said honestly.

She looked at him for a moment, then sighed. "Oh yes, the arrogance - I remember that too."

* * *

Harry followed Ron into a room thick with potions fumes. A map was spread out over the table, and Hermione was hunched over it - all Harry could see was her shoulders and a mane of bushy brown hair.

"I think this spell is a non-starter," Ron whispered, "but what do I know?"

Harry was torn. He hadn't seen Hagrid in weeks, but he was curious about this spell of Hermione's. He would have thought Dowsing was a bit too close to Divination for Hermione's comfort. 'All fuzzy thinking and guesswork' would be how she'd describe it. If they were at the point of trying fuzzy thinking and guesswork to find the Horcruxes, then they were in trouble.

And he hadn't even had the chance to tell them that the cup's trail had gone cold again - well, led to Snape, which was almost as bad. He kept quiet as Hermione dropped a handful of dust on the table and waved her wand. _Perhaps this will work -_

The dust built itself up into a ball - and flung itself straight for Harry's face.

While he was coughing and spluttering, trying to bat it away, he heard Ron laughing.

"Your glasses are a Horcrux, Harry!"

"I don't know what could have gone wrong." Hermione sounded more irritated than concerned, Harry noted sourly as he wiped the dust off his glasses, his eyes streaming. "Get out, both of you - I need to think about this."

"Back to the drawing board, Hermione," Ron said as they were shooed out. The slam of the door cut off her reply, but it didn't sound polite.

"So, what now?" he said to Harry. "Fancy getting some food - watch them trying to wake the giant?"

"I'll pass, thanks. I feel like I haven't slept in a week." The thoughts of bed and Draco weren't necessarily linked, but he remembered the other boy's expression as he'd stared at him in the ballroom. "There's just something I have to check on first."

But Draco wasn't in the ballroom when Harry got back downstairs. He located Livia in the crowd. Now that her job was done, she'd gone to watch the giant, a mixture of fascination and disgust on her face. She caught Harry's eye without his even hailing her, and made her way over.

"If you're looking for your friend, he's fed and watered and gone to bed."

"Oh."

"I can give you his room number if you like?"

For a moment Harry actually considered it. Then he thought of Draco's reaction if he woke him, and wondered just what he expected to do if he did. He flushed and shook his head - and walked away quickly before he could give in and ask for the number.

* * *

Draco stood on the rain-lashed parapet. The rain was almost a solid curtain, cutting off the castle from the rest of the world, but as the back sky was torn apart by lightning, he blinked water out of his eyes and saw the ships. In that one bright moment, before the gloom fell again, he thought he counted dozens of sails, a fleet stretching to the horizon.

The storm was almost on them - the crack of thunder that followed the lightning sounded like the fabric of the world being irreversibly torn apart. Evadne stepped up to the battlements beside him. She looked more like one of Cassiopeia's porcelain dolls than a fearsome witch, but as her tiny hands gripped the stone and she stared out into the storm, hair and robes whipped into wild shapes by the wind, Draco reminded himself of the legends, and was suitably scared.

"What do you want?" he asked.

She didn't look at him. "To _live_," she hissed into the wind. "For my family to be great again. And for _this_," she made a grand gesture out into the storm, "to never happen again." One small hand made a fist, and Draco heard the venom in her voice and was glad he couldn't see her face. "I _will not _let it happen again."

She turned. Draco looked past the pale hair tangled across her face, into eyes that were a gateway to another storm -

He woke, into sweltering heat and the overwhelming smell of saltwater and decay. Her voice followed him out of the dream, "love is such a selfish, pathetic reason to die."

Then the voice, and the smell, were gone. Draco struggled up into a sitting position, skin slick with sweat, his brain struggling slightly as it adjusted to reality. Light was creeping in through the gaps in the wood blocking the window, but it didn't improve the appearance of the dingy room. The wood prevented much air getting in from outside, despite his opening the old sash windows as far as they could go, and the heat in the room felt like a solid thing pressing down on him.

He was also alone. Being in a bed was disorientating enough after weeks of sleeping on the floor with only cushions for comfort, but the solitude felt even stranger…almost threatening. Even in the woods he'd had Potter watching over him as he slept.

_Love is such a selfish, pathetic reason to die. _Well, she'd have no arguments from him on that one. _Stating the obvious or what, oh supposedly wise and powerful ancestor?_

The hot, stale air wasn't satisfying to breathe. The sound of the sea drifting in through the open window sounded like Evadne's voice continuing to whisper even outside his dreams, and he wanted no more of _that_, thanks.

His feet had barely touched the floor when he noticed the soft blue glow coming from his shed jeans. On investigation, he fished the St Christopher from the pocket, a date and time scrawled across its surface in Snape's spiky handwriting.

So, Draco might have forgotten about the St Christopher, but Snape hadn't forgotten about _him_. He didn't know whether to be glad or concerned. After all, the only intelligence he had to pass on was the Order's new hideout, which Snape probably knew about already, given his past form.

_What does he want from me? _

It was a pointless question. Draco couldn't answer it, and Snape was as likely to give him a straight answer as Evadne was. Though at least Snape didn't come to him in his dreams…now _that_ was a terrible thought.

He was thoroughly sick of both of them, he decided as he slipped the St Christopher around his neck, its glow fading now that the message had been delivered. He put on the fresh clothes Livia had provided. More Muggle clothes, though at least these fit better.

But a better fit might not be a good thing. Draco was certain the problems he'd being having with Potter had all started with those tight Muggle trousers and flimsy shirt. Though Potter had stared at him almost as much when he was wearing robes…perhaps he'd been wondering what Draco looked like beneath them…

_Well, he certainly knows _now_, doesn't he? And what I feel like. And what I fucking _taste _like… Shame I can't say the same -_

He ended the thought right there. He _didn't _want to know what Potter looked like naked. He didn't want to know if that tan was the same colour over all his body, or got progressively lighter and lighter - his arms and face and neck dark from the sun, his legs and torso merely golden, while his most intimate places -

The door slammed behind Draco as he left the room. Potter's possible tan-lines were _not _important intelligence - nor was anything else about his body. He needed something to give Snape - something more relevant than "Potter's good with his hands." Even the mere thought of that conversation made him die a little inside.

_Useful intelligence. _As he walked down the corridor, he heard women's voices behind one of the doors - Granger's, and another voice that was somehow familiar, but wasn't clear enough for him to put a name to it. That Granger was closeted in her room with another girl might be 'useful intelligence' to Weasley, but it wasn't to him. He kept walking.

The public rooms of the hotel were deserted, the candles which had lit the ballroom the night before burned down to little pools of wax, the air thick and smoky. The giant was gone, but its weight had left an imprint in the previously smooth wooden floor.

Draco had just about given up on finding out anything useful, and was wandering through the dining room with the idea of risking a walk outside - there might be Muggles out there, but there was also fresh air - when he hit the jackpot.

"I trust Mordecai about as far as I can throw him."

The doors to the kitchens hung open, and for all Moody's talk of 'constant vigilance', he never seemed to speak in less than a shout. As Draco moved quietly over to the doors, he heard Lupin's reply.

"Neither do I, but the Shards are proving to be very useful. They're not offering anything but a sanctuary for a few Muggle-borns - just Muggle-borns, no 'dissenters' or 'half-breeds'. If Mordecai was offering to throw his entire family's lot in with the Order, I'd be a lot more suspicious. Odd as it seems, it is possible to look down on someone without thinking they deserve to die or live as slaves."

Moody snorted. Draco risked a look around the door. Lupin and Moody were alone in the once-great kitchen, bits of parchment spread over one of the work-surfaces. Lupin was sipping at more of his tea; Moody had a bottle of fire whisky, and as he poured it out into his glass, he peered at it suspiciously and moved his wand over the top of the glass.

_Probably checking someone hasn't poisoned it since the last glass - mad old bastard…_

"Vavassur? You can't tell me he's seen the error of his ways?"

"Last time around old Cain tried to keep a foot in both camps, keeping his options open. His son's just following his example."

Draco filed the names away for future reference. In the past, he would have condemned them as blood-traitors - now he couldn't even summon up a bit of hate, just disbelief. The Shards and the Vavassurs were very much of the same class and mind-set as the Malfoys - they could never be accused of being Muggle-lovers, even if they weren't active supporters of the Dark Lord. He remembered the feeling of dislocation Flavia Hamilton's presence amongst the Aurors had given him. The world was a more complicated place than he'd been brought up to believe.

The thought should have frightened him, but instead it gave him a flicker of hope.

"Cain was a wily old fox -"

Draco couldn't see the expression on Lupin's face, but he did see his back stiffen. Moody stopped talking and narrowed his eyes.

The best thing for Draco to do would just be to walk in and say hello. Act innocent, pretend he hadn't overheard anything -

He didn't get the chance. Lupin's chair crashed to the floor as he ran to the doors. Draco took an automatic step back and bumped into Moody as he Apparated behind him. His hand clamped down on Draco's shoulder.

_Right - this calls for some seriously fast talking -_

"Well?" Granger's voice rang out in the sudden silence. "Was there pumpkin juice in the kitchen, or did you decide that a wild goose chase would be just the thing to get you out of helping with this potion?" Draco twisted in Moody's grip to look at her as she swept across the dining room like a harpy out for blood. "God knows how you got such good marks at school, Malfoy - you're so _lazy_."

Both Lupin and Moody stared at her, but her irritated expression was all for Draco, and he could recognise a helping hand when he saw one. Even if he didn't know why it was offered. "I haven't had the chance to look yet," he protested, "these two leapt on me. And I'm not lazy! I can't help it if I don't have to work hard. I'm just naturally brilliant at everything."

"Pumpkin juice," Lupin repeated, sounding amused.

Draco shrugged. "Thirsty work, brewing potions." _Just don't ask me what potions we're working on._

"There's probably some in the pantry." Draco nodded, careful to keep his expression blank as he met Lupin's eyes. "I think we should take our conversation elsewhere, Alastor."

Moody glared at Draco and reluctantly let him go. Draco's shoulder was numb; as he watched the two men walk off he massaged it back into life and waited for Granger to state her price for helping him.

"So, are you just nosy, or is it something more sinister?" She waved off his explanations. "I don't care, Malfoy. But other people might, if I tell them about this. Harry, for example."

Draco crossed his arms and prepared to bargain. This was reassuringly familiar territory. "What do you want?"

"The Library of Walpurgis. I need to go there."

"Never heard of it."

"1782 - the Ministry of the time ban the practice of the Dark Arts. 1783 - they attempt to regulate the possession of Dark Arts-related literature. That year the Library of Walpurgis is founded. The deal - pass your now-illegal books into the possession of Adrastos Akunin and he'll guarantee you and your descendents access to his 'library of evil'."

"'Library of Evil?'" Draco laughed; Granger didn't even flinch. "Have you been reading the Quibbler?" She just looked at him. Of course, the Library of Walpurgis _did _exist, just as she'd described it - but who the hell had told _her _about it? _'Library of Evil' - sanctimonious bitch. _Not that it mattered - she'd got him metaphorically by the balls in impressively Slytherin style, and they both knew it. "Fine. Fuck it. As it happens, my family _did _donate books to the Library."

"So you can take me there as your guest?"

Draco looked at her, at her bare arms and trousers cut off above the knee, at the Muggleness oozing out of every pore, and shook his head. "Not with you looking like that. The Library has _standards_."

* * *

Harry was woken by vigorous shaking and a birthday present being tapped against his head. He groped for his glasses. As he slipped them on, the vague impression of pale faces and red hair turned into Ron, Fred and George.

"Happy Birthday, mate."

Harry ignored the heat and gathered the sheets up against his chest. They stank of his sweat - and something more embarrassing - but all three Weasleys seemed cheerfully oblivious. Awkward as he felt, he fumbled at the wrapping paper. Inside was a box with the words 'Gamp's patented Action Duellist!' printed across it in flashing letters, illustrated with a picture of what was obviously supposed to be a fearsome-looking wizard. He grimaced and posed; Harry decided he just looked constipated. Draco could exude more menace than that without even moving.

He read the back. "Hone your duelling skills against a fearsome opponent! Just add water and a simple animating charm to bring your Gamp's Action Duellist to realistic and fighting life!"

Ron shrugged and coloured slightly. "I got you something better - I mean, this birthday is the big one, isn't it - but it was destroyed at the Schoolhouse and -"

"It's great. Really." So this was what being seventeen felt like…exactly like being sixteen. A week ago this day had seemed so important…

Fred grinned and tossed another parcel into Harry's lap. "Well, we were lazy and forgot to get you anything."

Harry peeled back the paper to reveal a packet of Pink 'n' Whites.

"The Muggle girl in the shop -"

"Jenny."

"Jenny said they were almost pure sugar. Sugar's good."

"We got some for Dad, too - he'll appreciate them."

"Actual Muggle junk food," Harry said. "He'll love them." _Though Mrs Weasley probably won't._ He ran his fingers over the plastic. He'd never had Pink 'n' Whites as a kid, though Dudley had loved them until he'd seen the 'less than 2 percent fat' label.

"If you're nice to us, there's a box of stuff set aside for you at the shop -"

"- as long as it hasn't been looted by the time we get back there."

Ron produced a carefully wrapped box. "This was outside your door - I think it's from Hermione."

There was a piece of paper slipped under the ribbon. Harry unfolded it and read the note out loud: "I'm following a lead. Don't worry about me. I'm perfectly safe. I'm with Malfoy -"

Ron snatched the paper from Harry's hands. "How can going off alone with _Malfoy _possibly be _safe?_"

"Well, I've done it," Harry said, "and I'm still alive."

"Yeah, but you've been acting really weird. And what's _this _supposed to mean?" He read on, "'I'm with Malfoy - so don't worry about him either.' Why would _you_ worry about Malfoy?"

Harry chose to ignore that question. "Hermione can handle Draco."

"_Draco?_" The name sounded odd coming from Ron's mouth, even with the contempt and disbelief he managed to load into just those two syllables. "Since when did you two get so _cosy_?"

Harry didn't know whether to squirm or explode. He opened the packet of Pink 'n' Whites, took out one wafer and started to pull it apart, carefully holding down both the embarrassment and the anger. "We have saved each other's lives a few times," he said mildly. "I trust him."

"You -" Ron stared at him in disbelief, obviously searching for words. "But - it's _Malfoy_!"

* * *

"You've missed a bit, dear," the mirror said.

Draco saw the lock of hair it was referring to and smoothed it back. He looked in the mirror and liked what he saw. For the first time in days he was properly dressed - _fully _dressed. His robe was high-necked and long-sleeved and made of silk almost as thick as parchment - if it felt heavy and restricting after the barely-there Muggle clothes, well, that was the _point_. It was _dignified._ And his hair was slicked back so firmly that no one would even think to play with it.

He was a powerful wizard from an ancient family, not some toy to be ogled and groped and sighed over.

He lifted his chin. His reflection looked back at him haughtily.

Yes, that was definitely better.

_Mother's certainly taking her time with Granger._ But however long it took, she had to look respectable to go to the Library. Akunin hadn't left its four walls in centuries - Draco couldn't even imagine what the old librarian would make of Granger's 'shorts'. _Even a glimpse of collarbone gives him the need to go bite something._

He moved over to the window. The past couple of times he'd been to the Calchas Square apartment, the little park in the square had been full of witches and wizards enjoying the summer sun - now it was eerily quiet.

All his mother had had to say on the subject was "proscriptions", which hardly explained anything.

Narcissa Malfoy had barely flinched when her son had Apparated into the parlour with Hermione Granger in tow. She'd finished her breakfast, and expended a small amount of rather cool concern over Granger's appearance, until Draco had told her that no, she hadn't been attacked, she'd just chosen to dress that way. Granger had announced that she was a Muggleborn with the air of someone prodding at a bruise to see when the pain would come; Narcissa's response to _that _had been a small smile and a calm "how unfortunate, dear". _As if Granger was admitting to having some minor but unsightly disease. Mother's amazing._

"Not that I want to seem unwelcoming, but I don't think it's wise for you two stay here much longer. In my last communication with Severus he did mention something about you turning traitor…"

Draco turned and smiled at his mother. "It's a long story."

"I'm sure it is. Your aunt is after your blood."

Bellatrix, of course; they never spoke about the other one. "I'm sure she is. Has Snape told you the full story?"

"Apparently you were swept off your feet by Harry Potter," Narcissa said, apparently oblivious to the colour Draco could feel spreading across his cheeks. "Be careful, Draco - that is exactly how your father and I got together."

"_Mother_!" Then the embarrassment faded somewhat as he saw the curl of Narcissa's lips. "Please, don't even joke about that."

"I'm the one trapped here while my husband and son play power games," she said coldly, "with only Severus and Bella to stop the Dark Lord's vengeance turning in my direction - I'll joke about whatever I please. Your _friend _is waiting in the hall." Draco nodded, for once in his life unsure of what to say. "I like her. Extremely unfortunate parents, but I like her."

"You're not checking out my future bride, Mother."

"That's one small mercy at least."

Draco followed his mother out into the hall. He barely recognised the girl standing there.

Granger's hair had been tamed and bound with ribbons into a complicated bun. Her dark green robes were the essence of discrete, respectable elegance. He didn't know if it was some natural skill at pretence, or the combination of the robe's high neck and her heavy hair-do, but her back was straight and her head held high.

"Very good. No one would ever know that you were a M-" He stopped himself; he could do better than such a generic insult.

Granger smiled at him, but the expression in her eyes had daggers in it. She knew _exactly _what he'd been about to say. "I believe the 'M' word you're looking for is 'Muggle-born'," she said sweetly.

"Of course it was," Narcissa said.

As Draco stepped past her, her fingers closed around his arm. "I do wish you and your father would keep me better informed," she said lightly. "I wouldn't mind knowing what side we're currently on."

"Neither would I," Draco replied with feeling.

Her grip tightened slightly. "Take care, Draco. Do try not to make any more enemies."

* * *

"I'd worry more about Draco than Hermione," Lupin said. "If he says something she doesn't like…"

George beamed and nudged his brother. "She'll hex his balls off." The whisper carried; Ron seemed to think about it and deflated slightly. Harry was relieved. Ron's constant litany of reasons Draco couldn't be trusted had started while Harry was getting washed and dressed, and had lasted until they got down into the dining room. The worst thing was that Harry agreed with half of it, and wasn't sure who he was being more disloyal to, Ron or Draco.

"That would just be for starters," a bright voice announced. "We girls pass each other some really interesting curses." Harry turned to see Ginny standing in the doorway. She gave him a sunny smile - it turned into a frown as her brothers pounced on her.

"What are you doing here? It's not safe."

"And ferrying people to safe houses is?" She pulled a face. "You get to hide out in a fancy hotel. _I_ get to have Death Eaters and their Enforcers rooting through my underwear drawer for Muggle-borns and 'dissidents'."

Fred clapped her on the shoulder. "You're fighting the good fight, Ginny. Next time, try putting a mouse trap or two in there."

"Or a pair of y-fronts," George added. "Watch the pervs go mad trying to figure it out."

Harry tried to signal sympathy with his eyes. Ginny met his gaze; her next smile was weaker.

"This is fun," she said, "but I'm really here to see Prof-, I mean, Lupin. Mum's heard from Tonks."

* * *

Draco signed his name in the book, adding 'plus guest' with an extra flourish. As the book was pulled back and the grill closed, Draco leaned against the wall and looked over at Granger. The confident act she'd been putting on was deteriorating with every delay. Waiting around in a narrow alleyway off the only Wizarding street in York, with two gargoyles leering at him, wasn't his idea of fun either, but her restlessness was amusing.

"When we go in there, try to tone down that holier-than-thou attitude. I don't even want to imagine what Akunin's reaction would be if you started to refer to his pride and joy as a 'library of evil'. It's not so cut-and-dried as we're taught in school. A lot of the forms of magic relegated to 'the Dark Arts' are powerful and subtle, some of them are disciplines older than wand-craft, and they're all capable of being used for good rather than evil."

Granger seemed almost startled. _Probably wondering why I'm_ _lecturing _her _on magic. Well, she might have been ahead of me at school, but this is one area where I know a lot more than her._ "You sound like Professor Snape," she said eventually. "Next you're going to tell me there are 'good' uses for the Unforgiveables."

Draco could have ignored the challenge, but he didn't. He shrugged. "The Killing Curse is the most quick and painless way of ending life ever invented. Euthanasia? Pest control?"

Granger's eyes narrowed. "Are those two linked in your head? What about Cruciatus and Imperius?"

Draco gave her his most angelic smile. "Sometimes people need a little encouragement to do the right thing?"

The door swung open. The robes gave her sweep past him extra majesty. "More moral people think 'encouragement' should be done with persuasion rather than mind control and torture."

"Persuasion?" Draco said dismissively as he followed her down the narrow staircase. "Even Muggles can master _that_ - bribery and blackmail are hardly complex magical arts."

Granger _was _smart. She glared at him for a moment then shook her head. "That could have been quite an interesting discussion, but you just had to go and ruin it by trying to tease me." Her eyes glinted. "I'm disappointed, really."

"I do apologise." Just as the staircase seemed like it could get no narrower and remain passable, it opened out, and they stepped out onto a room as large and bright as a cathedral. The air was stale and dry and smelled like old books, but Draco gulped it in gratefully.

He heard Granger draw in a quick breath too, but he was sure hers wasn't due to relief from claustrophobia. She was awed - and she had every right to be.

As far as Draco knew, the Library was under the river. The light that streamed in through the room's giant windows had the swirling luminosity he associated with water. The windows were stained glass, and threw a thousand points of colour over the towering bookcases, the wall's mahogany panelling and the polished leather tops of the working desks. Moving colour, because the pictures in the stained glass changed as you watched. Every new visitor to the Library stared at the windows first, and Granger was certainly staring.

"Master Malfoy." The man approaching them between the desks didn't have a face made for smiling, but he was certainly attempting one. "How nice of you to visit. And who's your charming friend?"

"Mr Akunin, meet Flavia Hamilton. Flavia, meet Adrastos Akunin."

Granger didn't even twitch at her new name. She extended a gracious hand to Akunin, who pressed his leathery lips against it.

"Delighted, my dear."

_Crack. _Granger Disapparated, leaving Akunin clutching at thin air. Then she was back, smiling brightly and gripping her bag. "Sorry. I forgot my quills and ink."

Akunin sniffed. "We provide all writing materials here. Please don't Apparate within the Library - the noise distracts the other users."

"Sorry."

"Very well. You may use this desk, Miss Hamilton. Just write the subject you're researching on the request slip, and the relevant books will be brought to you. Please don't wander into the stacks on your own - some of the books are rather dangerous."

"Thanks. And I am sorry about the Apparition, Mr Akunin. It won't happen again."

Draco watched Granger with curiosity. Surely _she_ spent enough time in libraries to know not to do something like that in the first place. Unless…

_She was just testing, to see if she _could _Apparate out of here…_

"You haven't got any wards?" Draco asked. He didn't bother to remove the disbelief from his voice. "Is that carelessness or arrogance?"

"Neither," Akunin said, a trace of smugness in his voice. "No one would be stupid enough to steal from _me_. Of the two who _were_ - well, shall we say they were encouraged to return the items. And they did, promptly."

_Listen to him, Granger - forget whatever stupid scheme you might have. Akunin's had all these books in his possession for centuries - fuck knows what his idea of 'encouragement' is…_

Surprise, surprise - Granger wasn't telepathic. But she _was _planning something. She watched Akunin intently as he moved over to a cabinet, stroked the glass and almost cooed over the contents. "This athame for example. One of my most prized possessions." His eyes glinted as he looked at Draco. "I believe it was used to kill one of your ancestors?"

"I wouldn't know," Draco said calmly. Granger followed Akunin over to the cabinet.

"It was gone only three days." Akunin shook his head. "The thief was from such a good old family, too. A very powerful young wizard. It was so sad he resorted to theft - I would have been glad to lend it to him."

"Is that a crest on the pommel?" Granger sounded just too interested - and Draco was starting to get suspicious. Fortunately Akunin was too busy soaking up the attention to do the same.

"It is indeed, my dear. The personal crest of Rowena Ravenclaw - the heroine to all of us who desire knowledge for knowledge's sake."

"How wonderful," Granger sighed, and Akunin preened. Draco decided to have a word with her about her over-acting. When it came to buttering someone up, less was often more. "But you said it was used to kill someone? How is that possible?"

Akunin tapped his long nose. "I will tell you that story the next time you visit me."

* * *

"You shouldn't be here, Harry." Tonks' hair was back to mousy brown, and she had black rings under her eyes. She'd responded to Harry and Lupin's arrival with more horror than enthusiasm. "Neither of you should be here. I thought Molly would just tell you I was safe, not send you around here to fetch me." She moved to the window and peered through the curtains. "You could have been seen."

"By who?"

"I don't _know_. I don't know _anything_. That's the problem! The last thing I remember is being recalled to the Ministry. Ask me where I've been, what was done to me, why I seem to be the only Auror left alive…I don't know!" Her mother squeezed her shoulder gently.

"They're here, Nymphadora, and there's nothing you can do about that now. Why don't we discuss this over some tea?"

Harry studied the woman he'd been introduced to as Andromeda Tonks. He didn't know what he'd been expecting her to be like, this Black sister who'd defied her family for the sake of love. A rebel? A cuddly, warm woman like Mrs Weasley? She was neither. He looked at her thin, fine-boned face, listened to her cool voice, and could see only the sister of Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, not the woman who'd broken with her family to marry a Muggle-born. She met his gaze with calm blue eyes.

"Tea would be nice," Harry said quickly, suddenly self-conscious. Andromeda didn't call him out on his staring, but her lips twitched as if she was secretly amused. It was a painfully familiar expression.

"You don't understand," Tonks said to Lupin. "Perhaps I gave away my position in the Order under torture. Perhaps I was released for a reason. It's not safe for me to be around you - _any _of you."

"We need you," Lupin said. Their fingers touched, then entwined together. Harry hurried after Andromeda as she swept into the parlour. One flick of her wand and a silver tea service appeared on the occasional table, the pieces jostling for position. "Harry needs you - you've done such a good job protecting him in the past."

Andromeda raised one fine eyebrow; Harry shrugged. "I can protect myself," he said softly. _But I'll go along with it if it gets Tonks back._

"I'm sure," she replied calmly, starting to pour the tea.

"At the moment the main thing he needs protecting from is your cousin's evil influence." Lupin's jovial tone sounded slightly off, and Tonks' laughter sounded just as false.

"Dear me," Andromeda said, putting three spoons of sugar in her tea, "what has little Draco been doing now?"

"I don't know when you last saw him, Andromeda," Lupin said as he and Tonks came into the room, no longer holding hands, "but he's not so little anymore. He's old enough to have both taken the Dark Mark and seen the error of his ways. Apparently."

"I'm surprised Narcissa allowed that," Andromeda said quietly.

"Allowed it?" Harry said. "She was probably proud of Draco following in his father's footsteps - and really pissed off when he changed sides."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Those three softly spoken words stopped Harry dead in his tracks. He belatedly remembered who he was talking to. Estranged or not, Narcissa was still Andromeda's sister.

"I'm sorry."

Harry got the impression he'd amused her again. "You speak your mind - it's an uncomfortable habit, but not a bad one." She peered at him. "You seem to be a sweet boy - are you really friends with my nephew?"

"It's hard to imagine, isn't it?" Lupin said, and he sounded as amused as Andromeda. "But they seem to have formed quite a _bond_."

Harry felt a flush rising in his cheeks, and gave Lupin his best glare. He found Andromeda's disconcertingly intelligent gaze fixed on his face. "We're _friends_," he said firmly. _And the day I don't have to explain that, and everyone just takes it for granted, will probably be the day the world ends._

* * *

Draco leaned against the panelling and looked up at the pictures forming in the window above him. Most stained glass celebrated mythology, or great deeds done in times long past - the builders of the Library had obviously considered that passé. They were more ambitious - the Library's stained glass showed great deeds yet to be done.

He watched the fragments of coloured glass reform. It showed him an image of two robed figures standing before a wall of burning parchment, then a statue holding a chalice, then a pack of wolves running beneath high chalk cliffs, then a single white wolf, its mouth dripping with blood, howling at the sun, and he started to feel slightly uncomfortable. Divination was a famously inaccurate branch of the magical arts, especially when you added bespelled inanimate objects into the mix, but the Library's windows were generally regarded as the Real Thing.

Of course, you had to be destined to perform great deeds for them to show you your future, and Draco hoped that let him off. All he wanted to do was survive, so this future had to belong to someone else in the Library.

He looked about. Apart from the glass clicking together as the images changed, the only sounds came from the whirring clockwork wings of the brass birds bringing books to Granger's desk, and the scratching of her quill across parchment. They were alone in the Library now.

Granger seemed to notice she was being watched. She looked up, but her eyes didn't go to Draco, they fixed on something above his head.

He glanced up - and saw a new picture in the glass.

He should have focused on the burning castle apparently falling into the sea, but all he could look at were the two figures in the foreground. The stained glass didn't do faces very well, but it did do hair and skin colours - _and, fuck, yes, Potter's got tan lines -_ and it had made a horrifyingly good job of the figures' entwined limbs and the blood staining their skin.

Draco felt the heat rushing to his face. He met Granger's horrified eyes and was suddenly furious. _What the fuck does she have to be horrified about? It's not her fucking future!_

"We're leaving," he said with as much dignity as he could muster. His voice sounded much too loud in the quiet room, and he saw Akunin glance his way.

Granger nodded slowly, stuffing the parchments into her bag, her eyes flicking between Draco and the window. He looked up again, feeling like a sucker for punishment, but the lovers had gone, replaced by a brown-haired girl in rich robes and an ivory tiara, book in one hand, blunted knife in the other…

There was a crash, and the tinkling of broken glass. He tore his eyes away from the window just in time to see Granger catch Ravenclaw's athame in her hand. She had one of the books under her arm as she Disapparated.

_Shit…_

This time she wouldn't be coming back, and Akunin had obviously decided Draco was her partner in crime. His lips peeled back from long fangs, and he scuttled towards Draco -

- who followed Granger's lead and Disapparated, praying to any deity that might be listening.

_Please let Granger know what she's doing…_

_Please let the glass be wrong…_

* * *

A/N - more of the boys together next chapter, I promise! X


	22. Chapter 13

A/N - okay, so neverenuff said "bring on the LOVE"...dunno if this is what you had in mind, hon, but I hope you like... ;)

* * *

**13.**

Harry Apparated into the hotel's once-magnificent conservatory, Lupin and Tonks barely a split second behind him.

Tonks looked nervous and twitchy, and Harry tried to imagine himself in her place. Every single reason Lupin had given for her to return had been valid and good - they needed every fighter they could, and her Auror skills were invaluable - but he understood her fear. Of course she'd been released for a reason - and that reason was probably not going to be good news for the Order.

"See," he heard Lupin murmur, "you're not going mad and you're not slaughtering people."

Tonks managed a laugh. "Give me time."

"What the hell were you _thinking_?" Harry heard Draco before he saw him - his shout cut across the hum of activity, and Harry wasn't the only one to stare.

"It was necessary!" Hermione snapped back. It took Harry a moment to connect the familiar voice with the witch advancing across the conservatory towards him. Fortunately he saw past the stern hairstyle and heavy robes before he noticed the knife in her hand.

"You stole from Adrastos fucking Akunin!"

"Yes, Malfoy, I _did_. I'm surprised you noticed. Weren't you too busy conjuring obscene pictures into the stained glass windows?"

"That wasn't me!"

"It looked like you!" Hermione met Harry's gaze - and promptly flushed and looked away.

_What the hell is going on?_

Draco caught up with her. In his expensive-looking robes, his hair tied and slicked back, he should have looked as unrecognisable as Hermione, but he didn't. This _was _Draco, just as Harry remembered him - no trace left of the brittle boy in the borrowed jeans. Which was probably the point, Harry realised. The clothes were as much a part of Draco's new, improved protective shell as the arrogant tilt of his chin and the hardness in his eyes.

"Well, are you going to tell Potter all about our little jaunt?"

Hermione just glared at him, and held out the knife for Harry's inspection. He noted the blunted edges of the blade - then saw the crest emblazoned on the pommel. "Is this -"

"I don't know," Hermione said. "But it belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw, and it was stolen then returned by 'a powerful young wizard from a good old family'. What do you think?"

* * *

Draco watched Potter as he stared at the athame. His mind was racing.

Was this connected to the cup Potter was looking for? A 'badger crest' could connect the cup to Helga Hufflepuff, so… _Hufflepuff's cup, Ravenclaw's athame…are they looking for things connected to Slytherin and Gryffindor too? _And if they were, how were random items once owned by the Founders going to bring down the Dark Lord?

And who was this 'powerful young wizard'? A sudden suspicion entered Draco's mind, but he rejected it instantly.

"Do you know how to check?" Potter asked Granger, and she nodded. Draco silently cursed them both - they weren't giving him much to work with.

He realised he was being stared at. It took him a moment or two to recognise the young Auror from Potter's house - she looked quite different without her outrageous hair colour. He gave her a curt nod; she looked at him with apparent curiosity.

"Tonks," Lupin said softly.

That gave Draco a start - he knew that name. The aunt that was never to be spoken of, her unmentionable marriage…he looked back at this 'Tonks' with an equal amount of curiosity. So this was 'the half-blood whelp' - you really couldn't tell just by looking at her.

"Nice to meet you, cousin," she said, and stretched out her hand. Draco only hesitated for a moment before he took it. He was playing nice, he needed all the allies he could get - and the thought of what his father's reaction to this would be gave him a certain amount of perverse amusement.

He didn't miss the approving looks he was getting from both Lupin and Potter.

_Oh, piss off, you smug bastards. It's just a fucking handshake. It means _nothing.

"Wow! You look, um, different…"

Weasley had turned up - _the ginger-haired git's like a bad penny _- and was staring at Granger with awe.

"But good, though - really good." And was Granger - thief, blackmailer and researcher of the Dark Arts - actually _blushing_?

"You're such a silver-tongued bastard, Weasley."

"Fuck off, Malfoy."

"And king of the witty comebacks."

Granger caught hold of Weasley's arm - _and he'd better enjoy it, because that's all the physical contact he's going to get with lines like that. _Potter stepped between them - a bit too close to Draco for comfort, but then Potter didn't respect personal space, did he?

Much too close for comfort, actually. Draco looked at Potter's mouth. His lips were set in a straight hard line, but Draco remembered how they tasted, how they felt against his skin, and he was suddenly glad of his robe's thickness and weight. It took every inch of resolve he had to step closer to Potter. It probably wouldn't be such an effective gambit with Draco fully clothed, and Potter having had what he wanted, but -

The heat remained in Potter's eyes, but now it wasn't generated by anger - not at all. Their noses touched as Draco moved even closer, whispering. "What's wrong, Potter? Do you want another go -"

Potter moved too fast; Draco didn't have a chance to react as he caught hold of his robe and shoved him back. The backs of his thighs hit something hard and sharp - the edge of a table, he realised as he fought to keep his balance. Hands still wrapped in the silk of his robe, Potter took a step closer, and then that silk - and the rougher fabric of Potter's clothes - was the only thing separating their bodies. Just two pathetic layers of fabric…

"Harry!" Draco barely heard Granger's exclamation over the sound of his own pulse throbbing in his ears. He didn't know what this would look like to their audience - like Potter was about to kill him, perhaps?

_Fuck - if only they knew…_

Potter was as hard as he was, and his every little movement felt like calculated foreplay. "Yes," he said firmly, "I _do _want another go."

Tension and heat coiled through Draco's body. "Good for you," he managed. "I _might _allow you a rematch." _What am I saying? What am I fucking _saying_? _"Now, if you want." It should have been impossible to get closer to Potter, but Draco managed it. Thick hair ticked his nose as he hissed in Potter's ear. "Do you think Weasley might actually die from the shock?" _Which might actually make it worth it -_

Potter took a hasty step back, and Draco was abruptly released. He was almost sorry.

Leaning back against the table made him appear relaxed and unruffled. It also hid the sudden weakness in his knees. Draco gripped the edge of the table for support and gave Potter his most insolent smile. _The correct time to remember you have an audience is _before _you start molesting someone. _

Potter glared at him for a moment, then leaned forward.

"Are you _naked_ under that robe?" he whispered.

Draco stared at him. _It's too hot for layers! He makes it sound so perverted… _"Yes." He smoothed out the crumpled silk, trying for some dignity. There were too many people around - even if they couldn't hear, all the whispering _had_ to be suspicious. "Enjoy the mental image, Potter," he muttered. _End of conversation. _But Potter seemed determined not to let Draco win this one.

His cheeks were blazing red, but he flicked his gaze down and god, Draco had _never_ expected to get such a filthy grin from Harry fucking Potter.

_Fucksake, Potter - don't you know how to back down? _The thought was almost panicked.

He looked deliberately down. His own little problem was adequately hidden by the thick robe. Potter's on the other hand… Draco tried not to stare. He forced his face into a sneer. "You probably ought not to turn around until you've dealt with that," he said, not bothering to lower his voice this time. "People might talk."

There was no possible comeback to that one, Draco realised with glee as Potter promptly sat down on one of the little metal chairs and scooted his legs under the table, his cheeks turning an even brighter red. Even the back of his neck was glowing.

"Right, if you've finished manhandling each other…" Granger was almost as flushed as Potter was - but then, she had seen the picture in the stained glass. Draco didn't know how she could use 'manhandling' with a straight face after that. "We need to talk, Harry."

If the expression on Potter's face was anything to go by, any attempt to make him stand up would be met with violence. Draco leant against the table, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. "Try sticking it under your belt," he whispered. "And think cold thoughts."

Potter's head shot up; Draco made the mistake of meeting his eyes. Big mistake. Oh, Potter was definitely angry, but there were other things in that oh-so-green glare besides anger - things that sucked the air from Draco's lungs and made his body quiver in humiliating anticipation. 'I'll have you,' that glare said, and it was as much a promise as a threat.

Potter hastily adjusted himself under the table and stood up, never breaking the eye contact. Draco hated every inch of him - his stupid eyes and his stupid mouth and his stupid hands… _Go on then. I'm right here. _"_Try it_," he hissed.

Potter swallowed - then had the nerve to fucking smile at him. "Later."

_Later? I'll give him fucking 'later'!_

But Potter had turned his back on him, and was already walking away.

_Fuck him. Fuck his empty promises, and all his fucking secrets._

Draco wanted to break something - preferably over Potter's thick head. He wanted to hex him silly - no, he actually wanted to hurt him. Badly.

He took a deep breath and settled for a surreptitious hex on the book in Granger's arms. It slipped from her grasp as easily as if its cover was suddenly coated in oil, and slid across the floor to his feet.

_Ultra Letalis. _Without the context, he didn't know if that meant 'beyond fatal' or 'the far side of mortal'. What kind of book was that for Granger to want, anyway? She was supposed to be one of the 'good guys' - one of the smug soldiers of 'light'.

Draco only had a couple of moments to look at it. As he picked it up, he let it fall open where its heavy velvet bookmark was inserted… at the beginning of a chapter entitled _Horcruxes: The Darkest Vessels. _He didn't know if Granger had marked that page, or if it was coincidence, but he got the chance to scan about half a page of dense text before Weasley snatched the book off him and returned it to Granger. The expression on his face reminded Draco of a game-dog bringing a downed bird to its master.

This time he met Potter's glare with a smirk.

_Go ahead, keep your secrets - I'll figure them out anyway._

_And there isn't going to be any _later, _you smug bastard._

* * *

Harry was careful to walk behind Ron and Hermione as they went back into the hotel. His anger was taking as much effort to get rid of as his hard-on. Draco had definitely reverted to type, and he hated him for it.

The worst thing was that the game had actually been fun - trying to hold his own, pushing the stakes higher, watching for every little sign that he was winning, actually getting through - then, wham, he had found himself at the point where he could have pinned Draco back against that table right there and then, torn open that robe…and Draco had just laughed at him and told him to think cold thoughts…

_Bastard! _When Draco had hissed "try it", he should have done just that. Harry hadn't wanted to make a show of himself in front of his friends, but - _god, I want him so much…_

_I want to kill him, too, though._

Back in Hermione's room, he tried to focus on the knife as she put it triumphantly down on the desk. The blunted edges were curious, but it didn't look very impressive. However, the diary had looked just like any other diary until it had started showing him visions of the past and Tom Riddle had been released from its pages.

"Well?" Hermione said.

Harry and Dumbledore had gone through what seemed like hell and back to get to the locket. Ron said what Harry was thinking. "If is a Horcrux, why wasn't it more heavily guarded?"

"The diary was just kept at Malfoy Manor until Lucius decided he could use it to cause chaos at Hogwarts. Apparently Hufflepuff's cup was there too. And the ring was just buried at the old Gaunt house. So far, the locket is the only Horcrux we know of with significant defences - and look how well they worked. Look - if this is a Horcrux, the hiding place was brilliant - hidden in plain sight, in a place only Voldemort's supporters are likely to visit!"

Ron frowned and looked thoughtfully at the knife. "I don't know, Hermione - it doesn't even look _real_. If it really belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw then shouldn't it look, well, _older_?"

"Oh - and you know better than a centuries old vampire who's dedicated his life to collecting magical books and artefacts?" Hermione sighed, and looked like she wanted to slap both of them for their negativity. "I'll test it." She touched the book. "I know how to now."

Harry knew he should be examining the possible Horcrux, but he found his eyes drawn to something else on the desk. The black box was open and empty, and beside it was the reason why. The 'bones' were spread out on a piece of paper, but it looked like they weren't bones at all, but the pieces of a broken tiara made of unpolished ivory. Hermione had half-reconstructed it.

She saw him looking, and quickly put the tiara, and the paper covered in bits, back into the box. "Before you say anything, it's curiosity, not anything more sinister. I'm not under any evil influence - I just wanted to know what was in it." She glared at Harry as if daring him to contradict her.

Harry thought of the sensations of dread both he and Draco had had from the box, the scent of the sea, the sounds, the vision, Lucius Malfoy's strange behaviour, and didn't quite believe her. But, at the same time, she didn't seem to be under a curse.

_Neither did Ginny. I'm going to get it away from her as soon as possible._

* * *

Draco moved an unidentifiable piece of meat around his plate with his fork. He'd picked the vegetables out of his stew, but he was damned if he was trying the meat. It could be anything - _and _it was cooked to death, grey and tough-looking. _Whoever served this crap up should be flogged. _He thought longingly of blue steak, blood running out of it as he cut into it - then flinched.

He liked his steak medium-rare, tender but very much blood-free.

He pushed the plate away, appetite suddenly gone.

So, the book Granger had stolen was about methods of achieving 'immortality', and the Dark Lord was rumoured to be un-killable. Draco thought about splintered souls and 'dark vessels' and wondered, letting deductions and assumptions bounce around together in his head.

Snape knew about this, he had to. Snape wouldn't have thrown away an extremely promising - if Draco said so himself - pupil, just to cover up his more effective spies. If he put together the idea of Snape knowing about this 'hunt' and the idea of Draco as someone Potter would keep close, certain things became so much clearer.

He found himself reaching for a plate as the dessert was passed out. There was a choice of tarts, and the treacle tart actually looked quite appetising. He decided to give it a go - whoever was cooking, they couldn't mess up a simple treacle tart, could they?

If Snape was thinking that Potter would keep Draco close, then he'd been sadly mistaken. For all his cocky promise of 'later' Potter didn't seem interested in coming near him, much less spilling all his secrets. He was sitting with his friends, one black head in what seemed like a sea of red. Girl-Weasley stuck a candle in his slice of treacle tart and lit it, and there was much laughing and cries of 'happy birthday'.

Draco snorted and raised his spoon in a mock toast. "Welcome to Adulthood, Potter," he whispered. "May you live long enough to enjoy it."

He settled down to enjoy dessert - and the treacle tart was decent. More than decent. He found himself licking the last gooey traces of it from his spoon. And looked up to see Potter staring at him. Not by accident either - Potter was twisted around in his seat, staring at Draco with a slightly odd look on his face.

Draco met his gaze and finished licking the spoon. _Fuck him. I know it's undignified, but it's probably the last nice food I'll get for a while, if the state of the stew was anything to go by._

Potter frowned and looked away, at his own plate. Then, as if he'd asked it a question and got an answer, he stood up, expression as hard as if he was going into battle. Which might actually be the case, Draco realised as Potter made his way through the tables towards him.

_Is this 'later'? Because, god, if it is, he really likes to have an audience -_

Draco pulled out his wand.

The hotel shook. Bits of glass rained down onto the tables from the old chandeliers.

Draco noticed that there was a face missing from Potter's table. Granger.

_So the Muggles haven't come early to knock the place down…_

* * *

Harry ran into the hall. When the floor had started to shake beneath him, his first thought had been Hermione - and the Horcrux.

_We left her alone with it._

He took the stairs three steps at a time.

_We didn't believe her…_

The staircase was cut off at the third floor by a wall of - well, it had to be energy, but it dripped and bubbled and hissed.

"_Confringo!_"

The wall of energy seemed to collapse in on itself. Cracks opened, flames flickering behind them…then it righted itself, rushing back into place…

"_Impedimenta_!" The spell slammed into Harry, knocking him off his feet a split second before his own spell rebounded from the barrier, blasting the banisters behind him into a thousand flying splinters.

"Idiot!" a familiar voice spat. Harry got up, wood crunching under his feet. Draco picked a splinter out of his cheek and glared at him; for once Harry agreed with the other boy's opinion.

"Hermione!" Ron managed to be both more cautious than Harry, and more stupid - he touched the wall, and yanked his hand back, swearing, his fingertips covered in blisters.

Harry was tempted to try another spell. Surely it was better than just standing there and staring, which was what every other person who joined them seemed to be doing.

"We've got to do _something_. Hermione's in there! We could try to Apparate past the barrier -"

"You will not!" Moody stamped up onto the landing, and glared at Ron, apparently more outraged by his recklessness than by the damage done to his carefully-chosen safe-house. Draco sniggered.

The wall of energy was suddenly torn into flickering, dying shreds. The flames in the corridor beyond soared into even more powerful life, and Harry felt a strong wind on his face, smelt the sea…

Moody was first into the corridor, casting extinguishing spells before him.

Ron was muttering under his breath as they followed Moody, but Harry picked up enough words to guess at what he was saying. "Please let her be all right, please let her be all right…" He repeated the words in his head.

_Please let her be all right…_

Hermione's room was just as burnt out as the corridor, but there was a circle of undamaged carpet. Hermione lay crumpled in the middle of it.

Livia shoved past him, and was at the other girl's side before either Harry or Ron could get there. Harry caught Ron's shoulder. "Let her do her job," he said quietly.

"Alive," Livia said, and Harry felt dread he hadn't even known he was feeling drain out of him. "Unharmed." She looked up with a smile on her face. "Sleeping."

"What?" Ron dropped to his knees beside Hermione. He clutched at her hand. "_How?_"

"If you want to know why you sleep I can direct you to the appropriate textbook," Livia said. "If you want to know how she survived _this_ -" she waved her hand at the blistered wallpaper and scorched furniture. "Magic. Lots of it."

Harry looked at the sharp edges of the undamaged circle, and thought of the amount of time between the hotel shaking and the flames being put out. "That was a hell of a shield spell," he said. If it even was a standard shield spell - Protego was directional and designed for short bursts of protection.

He wasn't really surprised to see the black box clutched in Hermione's arms. What he didn't know was whether it had protected her…or been the source of the flames…

* * *

Ten minutes later, Livia had put Hermione to bed in the room she was using as an ad-hoc hospital and had forcibly removed 'everyone but the boyfriend' from the room. Harry hadn't bothered to correct her about Ron - he had every right to stay by Hermione's side if he could.

_At least she's all right. _Harry knew that Livia wouldn't hesitate to give him the truth, happy or harsh. If she thought Hermione would be okay, then he trusted her. _The quest for the Horcruxes, however - that's _not _okay._

The knife had been on the table, it's crest peeled back to reveal a hollow in its handle. And Hermione had had a scrap of parchment clutched in her hand.

Harry looked at it again as he opened the door to his room. The handwriting on it was devastatingly familiar.

_**To the Dark Lord - and Adrastos Akunin.**_

_**I know that my curse is unlikely to kill either of you, but I can hope that it will, at the very least, inconvenience you. I have the Horcrux and I will destroy it. 'Lord' Akunin - if it is you who finds this - know that your 'persuasion' will not work on a man who knows his death is already close. May you both rot in hell.**_

_**R.A.B. **_

A pale hand reached over his shoulder and deftly plucked the piece of parchment from his fingers. "What's this?"

Harry spun around, hand reaching for his wand before he realised that yes, it was just Draco.

Just Draco…waiting for him in his bedroom? "What are you doing here?"

"I want to know what's going on," Draco said calmly. Even in the dim light, his hair and skin seemed to glow. There were so many things Harry should be thinking about - the note, the Horcruxes, Hermione - but his mind went blank of everything except fevered memories - hot skin under his fingertips, that too-clever mouth gasping and desperate, that slim, strong body shaking against him, cock jerking and spurting in his hand… Then he'd been very firmly shoved away, and put back in his place with just two callous comments - he couldn't forget that. He _mustn't _forget that.

"This is my bedroom."

"Yes, I know," Draco said slowly, as if talking to a particularly obtuse child. "I asked around until I got the number."

There was nothing Harry could say to that. He certainly couldn't voice the thoughts in his head. The night before, he'd driven himself to solitary, lonely climax with thoughts of Draco in his head. Now the boy himself stood by Harry's bed, brought there by inquisitiveness rather than lust. The irony wasn't lost on him.

Draco read through the note - and then actually had the nerve to laugh. "So, all that and it wasn't even a Horcrux?" His eyes glinted as he looked back at Harry, who refused to react to the casual comment. "Oops!"

"'_Oops,_'" Harry repeated. "Hermione's -"

"Alive," Draco said flatly. "And likely to remain so. The girl's like a cockroach."

"_What?_"

* * *

Potter didn't thump him, but from his expression, it was a definite possibility for the future.

_To think that I actually considered trying to wheedle my way into his confidences - I must have been mad._

Draco met Potter's glare with his most guileless expression. "I meant that she could survive anything," he said calmly.

"That still doesn't sound like a compliment."

"That's because it's not," Draco snapped. "Granger landed me right in the shit this afternoon." He let his voice become thoughtful, and watched Potter's reaction as he said, "I suppose if she _did _die, Akunin would be less likely to come after _me_ - I mean, she was the main culprit."

Still no explosion, but Potter stared at him in disbelief - and what looked like growing disgust.

Draco shrugged. "I don't _want _her to die. There are only two people in the world I actually _want _to die - and Granger's not one of them. Satisfied?"

"No."

"Just because your heart bleeds for the entire world, doesn't mean mine has to. There are people I like, and people I hate. The rest are -"

"Pawns," Potter completed, his eyes hard. Draco thought about the usual fate of pawns in Wizarding Chess - the comparison was a bit harsh, but fair. He nodded.

"What am I?" Potter asked. The question was loaded, and Draco suddenly felt like they should be circling each other, wands drawn.

"An irritating git," he said automatically, then grinned, because such a straightforward answer killed the game. "I haven't decided yet." He looked at Potter, and thought about six years of playing the game but not acknowledging it. "You're not so different from me. You pretend to care about everyone, but how many names did you know outside your year? Outside your house, even?"

"I knew yours," Potter said quietly.

"_Everyone _knew mine," Draco replied. "Seriously - how many of those nameless people would you have jumped to save, if it was a choice between them and your friends?"

Potter blinked. "It would've depended on the situation."

"Riight…" Draco knew he was being unfair, that Potter's need to save _everybody _was so deeply engrained it was almost pathological - Draco's own situation should have been the perfect example of that. But would Potter have done the same for Crabbe, or Pansy, or Zabini? Draco doubted it. Potter had 'saved' Draco because he wanted him - _that_ well and truly tarnished the shining armour…and made him worthy of interest in a way Dumbledore's little puppet never had been before. "Shame the situation never came up - the philosophical agonising would have been delightful to watch."

"I saved _you_."

There was a splinter still trapped in his hair. Draco pulled it out, then as his eyes met Potter's, ran his fingers through his hair to break the grooming spell. He even pulled free the ribbon that held it back, and felt soft locks fall against his neck and into his face. It was irritating as hell, but worth it for the effect on Potter. His eyes were filled with a hard, hungry yearning, and Draco looked at him through the gleaming strands, wondering how a bit of messy hair could have so much power over someone like Potter. How _he _could have so much power… He lowered his voice until the words came out of his mouth like airborne honey. "Yes, but you had ulterior motives."

Potter put his hands in his pockets and muttered something that sounded like "not at the time."

Draco told himself not to tease Potter - here in his bedroom, with no one else around. There was no telling where it would end. He ignored the little voice in his head that said he knew exactly where it would end - with him getting off again, and what exactly was the problem with that?

He let himself drop into the nearest chair, stretched and had another look at the note. "So, why not tell me exactly what you and your merry little band are up to? You might as well - I've figured out quite a bit already."

"Really?" Potter sat on the bed. "If you're so smart, you can figure out the rest."

"An exchange of information, then?" Draco tried to casually remove one boot with his other foot; after a moment or two of fruitless struggle, he reached down and pulled them off with his hands. "I might know who this R.A.B. is. I'm surprised _you_ don't."

"Don't play with me."

Draco shrugged and stretched again, arching his neck until he could feel every muscle pulled to its limit. "I told you once that I wanted to fight. Well, I still do." He met Potter's gaze again, but this time teasing was the last thing on his mind. This was much too important. "Listen to me, Potter - read my lips if you have to. You told me that the Dark Lord would be defeated. Well, I want to be part of that. Let me be part of it. _Trust _me."

"I _do_," Potter said. The sheer earnestness in his face was nauseating - until his eyes glinted and his mouth twitched into a smile. "I just don't always like you very much."

"Do you think I care? I don't like you much either." But Draco _did _like that expression on Potter, the look he got in his eyes when he was teasing - like his mouth was ready with the comebacks but his eyes just wanted you to know how much he was enjoying the game. "But you are vaguely amusing to be around."

Potter laughed. "Thanks! I _think_…"

And he liked the way Potter looked at him when he ran his fingers through his hair, as if that single movement was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. "'I don't like you very much' is not an insult, Potter. Now, if you'd told me I was _boring_ -" He fingered the clasps at his neck. Potter's eyes dropped down - and, fuck, he liked that look too, every terrifying, stomach-twisting bit of it.

Fingers digging into his skin, desperate, hungry kisses…

"You're certainly not boring," Potter said. That kind of comment deserved a laugh or a smile to go with it, but Potter's voice shook, and he shifted uncomfortably where he sat.

_Adjustment time again, Potter? _Draco got slowly to his feet. "I know," he said. He looked into Potter's eyes and thought, with a sense of wonder, _I actually want that…_

He undid the clasps at his neck, then the ones running down his chest. Potter's gaze was like a physical thing. _If I'd known my body was going to be such valuable currency, I would have gone to Zabini for some lessons in seduction…just how does this work, exactly? _The robe was a heavy garment - only a couple more clasps to undo and -

The robes slipped off his shoulders, dropped off his body completely, pooling on the floor around his feet like dark rich liquid. And what little bravado he'd been able to muster went with them.

_What the hell am I doing?_

Potter was just staring at him, open mouthed. That hadn't been the response Draco was expecting. _He's supposed to find me irresistible, and here I am, on a fucking plate… _And since when had being naked left him feeling quite so awkward and vulnerable? And Potter still wasn't doing anything…

"Fuck this." Draco grabbed for his robes, dragging them back up around his body, trying for some dignity, trying for some venom in his parting shot, "I might not be boring, but _you _are."

He made it to the door, and was just pulling it open when hands slammed into the wood at either side of his head. The slam of the door was echoed by the thud of his body against it. Trapped between the smooth wood and the strength and heat of Potter's body - Potter's _very_ turned on body - Draco hung onto the anger, and the robes, trying not to panic. Then Potter buried his face in Draco's neck, pressing hard kisses against the soft skin, and snap, just like that, he wasn't panicking anymore. He wasn't even thinking, just arching back against Potter, throwing his head back to give him better access.

* * *

The robe slipped down. At first Harry just had access to bare shoulders, pale skin stretched taut over prominent bones, then he was looking at the long line of Draco's back, the dark silk catching on the curves of his arse. His heart took a leap, some little voice in his head asked him just what the fuck he thought he was doing, but he was too busy tracing the bumps of Draco's spine with his tongue. Draco made a noise that was half honeyed moan, half mumbled curse, and released his death grip on the robe.

He was naked again, and this time there was no doubt in Harry's mind about what was happening. He could make up for the precious moments he'd wasted gaping, the shock that Draco had taken as rejection.

Draco twisted around, his fingers clutching at Harry's hair, dragging him up for a kiss. And despite the intensity of that kiss, and the heart-stopping reality of that body under his hands, a nasty little suspicion crossed his mind. His fingers wound into Draco's hair, dragging the other boy's head back. It must have been painful, but the noise Draco made sounded like gratitude. "If this is another game, I'll kill you."

The threat sounded pathetic even to Harry. It certainly didn't intimidate Draco; Harry felt his laugh through the fingers pressed against Draco's scalp, the hand resting on his belly. The rich thrum of it made his heart beat even faster, sent blood rushing to his groin - and made him feel incredibly stupid.

He let go of Draco's hair. Draco promptly put his hands on Harry's shoulders and pushed - down. He was stronger than he had any right to be, and Harry's knees hit the carpet with uncomfortable force. "Just stop talking and get me off, slave," Draco said. The imperious tone would have worked better if his voice hadn't been shaking, Harry decided, suddenly amused. It was nice to know he wasn't the only one out of his depth.

"Slave?" The word was addressed to Draco's cock, but an arm around his knees and a hefty tug brought him tumbling down to Harry's level. He _was_ strong, and Harry had to use all his weight to pin him down, but it was all made worth it by that rush of feeling - too heady and intense, too _selfish_…too much about Harry finally getting what he wanted. He did feel a tiny flicker of guilt, but it was overpowered by the arousal, the almost-pain in his cock as he ground against Draco, cut off Draco's curses with his mouth, revelled in the struggle as Draco fought and writhed and whimpered beneath him. It couldn't last long; _he _couldn't last long, but it was…_perfect_…

Draco tore an arm free and punched him. Right in the face, and not gently, either - Harry felt fire blossom in his cheekbone, tasted blood in his mouth as he accidentally bit his lip. But it wasn't a rejection; Draco used his newfound freedom to drag Harry's t-shirt over his head. Harry caught a "stupid fucking -" and didn't know if he was referring to Harry himself or the clothes.

It didn't matter. It didn't even matter when Draco yanked Harry's jeans down over his arse, the fabric well and truly trapping his legs together. Because their skin touched in a hundred new and shocking places, and god, he couldn't even be angry with Draco about the punch, because he could feel _everything_ - sharp hipbones digging into his skin, the rub of tiny hard nipples against his chest, every smooth, hard contour of the muscles moving beneath sweat-slick skin…the heat and thickness of the cock being crushed up against his own with every frantic movement of Draco's hips. His heartbeat spiked painfully, and his head spun, but that didn't matter either, because he was desperately, greedily trying to touch everything, taste everything…

* * *

Potter's fingers dug into Draco's skin, his tongue made a hot wet trail down his belly, and Draco jerked his hips up hopefully. _Just suck it. Or pull it - or do _something. _Please…_

Potter had kissed and sucked and licked his neck, his wrist, his belly, his balls, explored the lines of his collarbone and ribs with shaking fingers, paid as much attention to his bellybutton and his inner thighs as he had his cock. It was starting to feel like deliberate teasing.

But…if Potter was teasing, his hands wouldn't be so clumsy, or his mouth so greedy. He seemed to really find every inch of Draco equally sexy, and god, under his not-so-gentle ministrations, every inch _was_. Draco was discovering nerve endings he had never even suspected existed. How could he complain about Potter not paying enough attention to his cock when every inch of skin seemed to have a hotline directly to it? When his entire body had become this needy, hypersensitive _thing_, and a grip hard enough to bruise wound tension and need through his limbs, and the (hopefully) inadvertent scrape of teeth against the sensitive skin of his balls made his cock jerk…

So he touched Potter back, kissed whatever bits of him he could reach, swallowed his scent and let his body react to the sound of his moans and his racing heartbeat. He didn't know at what point it became a struggle again - perhaps it had been inevitable that it would - but that hardly mattered when Potter was splattering come over him, shaking and gasping as if he couldn't stop coming. It was too much - it wasn't enough.

"_Touch m_-" The words were cut off as Potter did just that, his hands moving over Draco's body, slipping in the come and the sweat. He thankfully didn't have to beg, though at that moment he would have gladly done so; Potter forced Draco's hands back against the carpet. The friction made his knuckles burn, and prompted a muffled "_fuck_", but then Potter's mouth was finally down there on his cock, and -

"Oh, _fuck_-" The rush of feeling was almost painful. Not just the familiar pleasure shooting through his cock - his entire body seemed to be trying to get in on the act. "_Fuck…"_ Potter gagged and pulled away, coughing and spitting, and Draco found himself laughing as he came and came and came…

_

* * *

_

Glad he finds me so amusing…

Harry wiped his mouth and finally remembered how to breathe. _Git did that on purpose… _But it had been the shock that had made him gag - the taste of Draco flooding his mouth had been surprisingly…okay. More than okay…

He collapsed, loose-limbed and drained, and watched Draco's body stop jerking, his laughing getting weaker. _Any minute now…_

Draco looked at him, tears in his eyes, and croaked out three words. "Regulus Arcturus Black."

It took a moment for Harry to catch up, for his brain to move away from _god, that was amazing…now when's the rejection going to come?_ But when it did -

The realisation was like a boot to the head. Harry couldn't remember if he'd ever been told Regulus' middle name, but - _I should have fucking guessed that one. R.B., the Death Eater who turned away from Voldemort and died for it…_

Draco stretched luxuriously. "You can tell me I'm brilliant," he said, his voice still hoarse, "I won't let it go to my head."

Harry met his eyes. Tired as he was, his heart beat faster. Still no rejection - and Draco had just given away his only bargaining chip - given Harry the information freely, with no expectation of Harry returning his openness or involving him in the quest…

"Thank you." He risked a kiss; Draco returned it eagerly, and Harry suddenly wasn't tired - not at all. "You're brilliant."

"Come on, Potter - you can do better than that!" One long finger traced letters into the cooling come on Harry's belly. G. I. T. "How about insanely clever, wonderfully intuitive, supernaturally brainy and sexy -" Harry cut off the words with his lips.

_Irritatingly clever, infuriatingly sexy…sarcastic, vicious, unpredictable, dangerous, _wonderful_…_

…_and _mine_…_

* * *

The awakening was sudden, caused by his body hitting the floor. Harry rolled over and blinked up into the darkness. He had been _in_ the bed when he'd gone to sleep, he was sure. As his eyes adjusted to the dark room, he found himself staring at a slightly paler shape hanging off the bed beside him, and he didn't need to reach for his glasses or conjure up better night vision to know exactly what it was.

Draco's arm. Obviously he'd decided - hopefully in his sleep - that the bed was too small for both of them. And pushed Harry out of it. Which should have been irritating, not prompted the indulgent smile Harry could feel creeping across his face.

He'd just been shoved out of his own bed but, as he sat up and marvelled at the pale limbs draped so inelegantly across _his _bed, he actually felt smug. Gifts always came with a price tag, he knew that, and 'exactly what you want' often had a limited lifespan, but…he was allowed to touch all _that_, wake Draco up and pin him to the bed - and god, it only took one touch to shatter that cold shell…one kiss and he'd go up in flames in Harry's arms… Harry really wasn't seeing any downside to that - in fact, he was getting well and truly turned on by the sheer thought of it -

Something scuttled past his foot.

_Just a spider. _It was a hot night, the window was open - any amount of bugs could have gotten into the room…

But he was sure he could see movement in the darkness…and tiny points of light. Eyes? Harry groped for his glasses on the bedside table. It was probably just his imagination - it _had_ to be his imagination - but as his fingers closed around the glasses, he heard little scuttling sounds from behind him, _above_ him, and frantically tried to remember where his wand had ended up.

He found his jeans on the floor. _Please - don__'__t let it have fallen out of the pocket__…_

With his glasses on, there was no dismissing the points of light as his imagination, or the seething movement in the shadows. He felt as if a thousand pairs of eyes were watching him as he tore his wand free of the jeans -

Something small but heavy dropped into his hair. Harry shook his head like a dog; he felt strands of hair torn from his scalp as whatever it was hung on tight, then heard a soft, fleshy thud as it flew free and hit the floor. But by then he had another of them on his shoulder, and he felt claws digging into his calf as another tried to climb his leg -

"_Lumos!_"

His sudden panic fed into the spell - the room was suddenly as bright as daylight - and Harry finally got to see what he was facing.

* * *

For once, Draco's usually leisurely and confused waking up process took all of two seconds. Potter's shout might have forced him out of the land of sleep, but the first thing he saw as he opened his eyes was the _thing _scurrying across his pillow, directly for his face. There were more of them crawling up his bare legs - black scuttling things like deformed spiders. Deformed spiders with _teeth_…

If waking up took only two seconds, his movement from laying down to landing on his feet was even quicker. Draco was actually in midair for a moment, batting the things away. His senses were abnormally sharp again - he could hear the sound of claws digging into the plasterwork above his head, the scritch-scratch of chitinous legs scraping against carapaces, the clicking together of tiny teeth…

Draco caught one of things in mid-air as it leapt from his face. Its body was hard but he crushed it like paper. Black gunk oozed between his fingers. And all its compatriots attacked en masse.

His wand was with his robes, which were still by the door. Only a few steps away - but that 'few' suddenly seemed like a thousand as the creatures swarmed up over the bed. He could squash them, but there were so many, and each one _bit_, with teeth much too big for their bodies. He felt every bite, every tiny chunk of flesh torn free, but that was almost superficial in comparison to the pain building deep inside his body.

His bones felt like they were…_moving_?

"Oh, fuck, please, _no_…"

The world seemed to have slowed right down just for him. Draco saw one of the creatures try to take a bite from the back of his hand. His skin stretched like elastic.

Searing pain shot up through his gums. His spine seemed to be trying to move up to a better joining-place with his skull, and he heard as well as felt the vicious little crunches as his bones dislocated. His first scream came as his legs gave way beneath him, and he dropped into a jerking, agonised heap on the bed.

_This can__'__t be happening__…_

* * *

"_No__…__no__…__no__…_"

Draco was curled into a ball, almost hidden beneath a seething mass of bugs. One deliberately-overpowered Accio and a quick duck later, and they were splattered all over the wall behind Harry. The few remaining creatures just disappeared - popping out of existence in a way that uncomfortably reminded Harry of Apparition.

_But bugs - even weird as hell ones - don__'__t Apparate, and they certainly don__'__t make strategic retreats__…_

"_No__…__no__…_" Even with the creatures gone, Draco was still sobbing. Harry got a clue why when he called the wand-light back up - and saw Draco's back. The gashes and gouges left by the creatures were horrific, and there was blood splattered across the sheets, but the bones of his spine and ribcage moved beneath skin that rippled like water…

_Is he _changing_..?_

"_NO!_" The word was screamed, but that got the universe - and Draco's own body - to take notice. Harry watched bones snap back into their proper places, the skin mould itself tightly back over Draco's flesh, and felt sick.

The sudden silence was broken only by Draco's gasping breaths.

"Jesus Christ…" A couple of quick steps and Harry was at the bed, but he hesitated before touching Draco. His skin looked normal, if rather torn up - but what if it wasn't? _What if I touch him and it__'__s -_

The decision was taken out of his hands. Draco rolled over, tears making tracks through the blood and black gunk on his face, and snatched Harry's wand. He aimed cleaning spells at himself until even the previously undamaged sections of skin were red and sore-looking. "Fucking Akunin," he muttered. "Fucking Granger and her fucking stealing…"

Harry caught hold of the wand. "What are you talking about? What's this got to do with Hermione?"

Draco ran a shaking hand over his face, as if checking it was in order. Harry looked at the bites on his arm and was torn. Draco was in a mess, but his mention of Hermione was disturbing.

"Akunin _persuades _thieves to return what they've stolen." So was that. "I think this might be step one."

Harry was already dragging on his jeans. _If the creatures came for Draco__…_

_Hermione. Ron.

* * *

_


	23. Chapter 14

14.

Harry heard Ron's muffled yell while he was still in the corridor. The door flew open when he kicked it, and he plunged inside, wand at the ready.

Even a room full of miniature monsters and Livia and Ron both standing on her bed hadn't woken Hermione from what was looking less and like natural sleep. Ron looked as if he was one step away from hysteria, but he wasn't letting it stop him; every slash of his wand sent carapaces popping and black gunk splattering across the walls. The floor was almost covered by a blanket of spindly legs and shiny bodies. Harry saw the circle of carpet around the bed, and realised what it meant a split second before the squirming mass changed targets.

_That wasn't a shield spell - Hermione really is being protected…by something…_

The creatures surged for the door - and Harry. He put everything he had into a Banishing Charm, just as he heard a gasped "_Duro_" from behind him.

Draco was so close to him that Harry could _feel _the magic he'd raised for his spell, the rush of power pouring into the room as the spells merged.

The combination of the two spells was spectacular - some of the creatures got caught by Harry's first, and were already flying through the air when they turned to stone, impacting against the wall with such force that puffs of powdered plaster exploded through the cracks in the wallpaper. The others… They became a twisted sculpture in the middle of the floor - as if an artist had begun carving a wave and then got diverted by legs and bodies and teeth…

Harry stood and stared at it, his knees weak and his hands shaking. He wondered if he'd run a marathon and somehow forgotten.

"You can stop pissing yourself now, Weasley, they're -" Draco's voice trailed off; Harry spun around just in time to catch him as his casual slouch against the wall turned into an undignified slide. His robes were sticky to touch, and Harry found his hands smeared with red as he eased him down onto the floor.

_Oh god - I should have fixed him up first - they were okay…_ Harry got rid of the thought almost as soon as it crossed his mind. _I didn't _know_ they were okay, and they're my friends._

Harry was forcibly reminded of Madame Pomfrey as Livia pushed him to one side and started to pull open the clasps of Draco's robes in an extremely business-like fashion. Harry supposed undressing semi-conscious, feebly-protesting young men was an almost daily occurrence for her, but her single-mindedness was slightly scary. She slapped Draco's hands away when he tried to stop her. "Don't be ridiculous, kiddo - unless you've got fur or a tail under there, I've seen it all before. If you don't cooperate, I'll just cut the robes off you."

Livia had bite-marks on her own hands - she and Ron obviously hadn't realised the bed was safe straight away - but she still sucked in her breath with a sharp hiss when she peeled back the blood-soaked fabric. "You came here to fight like _this_? Harry, help me."

So Harry found himself holding Draco still while Livia closed the wounds on his chest. He started to protest again as she tried to slide the robes down over his hips.

"Stop being silly. Harry's not going to look, and neither is Ron."

* * *

Draco could have laughed at that, if he'd had the energy. Oh, he was sure Weasley would rather gouge his own eyes out than look at Draco naked. Potter, on the other hand…Well, he had seen it all already, hadn't he?

He probably wouldn't want to look, anyway. Draco had seen the expression on his face after the almost-change - he was surprised Potter was even willing to touch him after _that_.

_He didn't even ask if I was all right. He just ran straight to his friends._ To Draco's surprise, that actually hurt, even though Potter's reaction had been reasonable. _I _did _nearly have fur and a tail._ And he really was light-headed from blood loss, because that thought almost made him laugh.

"It's over, Ron," he heard Potter say.

Weasley gave a shaky laugh. "I _know_," he said, but when Draco looked over at him, he was only just lowering his wand. He met Draco's gaze and looked quickly away to study the wallpaper, the tips of his ears turning bright red.

"Turn him over," Livia said. Potter went to do as she said, but Draco struggled free of his grip. The room spun around him from the exertion, but it was better than having Potter's hands on him.

_God forbid the fucking Chosen One should catch something nasty from the werewolf._

Face pressed to the carpet, Draco didn't even have to look at him, which was even better.

Fingers squeezed his shoulder. He couldn't even hope they were Livia's - the shape and feel of Potter's hands were unmistakable. Draco knew every contour, every callus and every line…

"Get off me."

"_Make me_," Potter said, but after another squeeze, the hand withdrew, and Draco was actually sorry.

"Though, if you are feeling the urge to give me a reviving massage, I'm sure something can be arranged."

"Malfoy, you're disgusting." That was Weasley, not Potter, though Draco imagined Potter's feelings were similar. Seeing someone you'd just been sharing a bed with trying to get his bones back into the correct places _had _to be a passion-killer.

"Ron, would you be a dear and go get Draco a fresh robe?"

"And be quick about it," Draco murmured, "or I'll make you shut your ears in the oven door."

Livia poked him in the back. "Play nice, or you won't get any Blood-Replenishing Potion."

"I thought Healers were supposed to be _nice _to their patients?" Draco muttered, but his heart wasn't in it; Potter had taken advantage of Weasley's departure to squeeze his shoulder again. "Were you away torturing puppies when they gave that lecture?"

"Possibly, because I don't remember it." Draco felt the warmth spread through his calf as she closed the last wound. A few unladylike swearwords and a clinking of bottles later, a tiny glass was almost shoved in his face. "Drink."

"How have you not been struck off?" he asked, fumbling for the glass. Potter took it - and thank god Weasley was out of the room and Granger was still unconscious, because that was the final humiliation, letting Potter help him onto his back, hand firmly supporting his head as he held the glass to his lips.

"I sucked off the Chief Mediwizard." The potion went down the wrong way. Potter thumped him on the back while he coughed and spluttered. Livia gave him a bright smile. "I win?" she said.

"You win," Draco managed. He could feel the potion doing its work already. _Fuck knows how, when I inhaled most of it._

The door slammed against the wall as Weasley came back in. He threw a set of robes in Draco's direction. Quite a good aim, he had too - without even looking at him, he managed to lob them straight into his face, and Draco was almost sure it was on purpose.

"Naughty house-elf," he said. Weasley span around, his face furious - and got a good eyeful of Draco's nakedness. "See anything you like?"

"You wish, Malfoy." Weasley stomped back over to the bed. Draco expected him to go back to mooning over Sleeping Beauty, but he looked like he wanted to break something, and Draco knew how he felt. The potion was working - he could feel the strength seeping back through his limbs, his head was clearing, and he could finally think about what was happening to him - think or dissolve in terror.

If the moon wasn't full, then he couldn't have been changing. If the moon _was _full, then he couldn't have _stopped _changing. He shook himself free of Potter, and pulled the threadbare robes over his head. _What the hell am I?_

* * *

Harry ignored Livia's puzzled gaze and followed Draco as he rushed out into the hall. He was careful to close the door behind him. After a moment's thought, he added a locking spell - whichever came next, shouted recriminations or accepted apologies, he didn't want Ron and Livia to hear them.

"_Confringo!_"

Harry spun around just in time to see Draco's spell hit the window, glass and wood alike exploding out into the night air in a thousand splinters. He leaned out, apparently oblivious to the shards of glass still embedded in the frame, staring at something Harry couldn't see.

"Fucking gibbous," Draco muttered as Harry reached him. Harry followed his gaze and found himself looking at the moon. It was bright but lop-sided, still a good sliver away from full.

There was no subtle way to ask, so - "It wasn't some weird side-effect from the bugs, then? You were really changing?"

"It shouldn't be possible." Draco's tone was cool, his expression merely thoughtful, but trickles of blood ran over the broken glass as his hands gripped it; Harry flinched in reflexive sympathy.

He firmly pulled Draco's hands away from the glass, and was rewarded with a startled glance as Draco saw the blood. _He didn't know what he was doing, then? That's a relief._ He held out his hands and let Harry run his wand over the gashes, removing the splinters, closing the wounds - and trying to work out what to say.

"You always have to be _different_," Harry said eventually, trying to keep his voice light. "You can't be just a normal werewolf - no, you have to be _special_."

Draco gave a startled, slightly shaky, laugh. "That's one way of putting it." He was trembling as their fingers wound together, but he didn't snatch his hand away, or protest as Harry touched his hair, his face, his neck… He certainly felt human - maybe even better than human. Harry thought of his earlier revulsion and was totally ashamed of himself.

"You just can't help yourself," he added. He stroked the hair away from Draco's neck, and risked a light brush of his lips against the soft skin.

"Anything for an edge, Potter." Draco's light tone was so obviously forced it was painful to listen to. Harry didn't know what he could do. Draco wouldn't talk to him about it - and even if he did, Harry knew his own limitations. What could _he _possibly say to make it better?

_You're still you. It changes nothing._

Harry wasn't good with words, and Draco looked for lies in everything. Words were useless. So Harry kissed him, slow and tender, ignoring both the way his heart swelled and his cock twitched.

_I want you. I want you to stop hurting._

* * *

It took Draco a moment to realise that Potter wasn't offering him a quick dose of lust-fuelled forgetfulness, but trying, in his own rather unique fashion, to offer comfort. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. If Potter thought he could breathe life back into a corpse, that a kiss could drive the pollution from Draco's body, then he was sadly mistaken.

Potter's fingers stroked his hair and rubbed warm patterns into his scalp. His lips were soft and gentle, but a lack of aggression didn't mean a lack of passion - he was as intent on Draco as he always was. With every shared breath Draco felt his blood move in his veins, his heart throb, and whatever he was becoming, right at that moment it didn't matter - he felt _real. _Perhaps Potter was trying to re-infect him with humanity? The cold terror was being slowly smothered by a warm feeling he didn't even have a name for…a feeling that was unfamiliar and rather alarming.

He groped for Potter's crotch. It was a relief to hear and feel Potter's sudden gasp, the almost instant hardening of his cock beneath Draco's fingers. _That _was familiar, _that_ he knew how to deal with.

_Fuck it, Potter - you don't have to be so sickeningly nice to me just to get what you want._

He dropped to his knees. Potter appeared to be fully, hugely erect inside the rough denim, and Draco almost changed his mind…but he had his pride. For a moment, he just tried to calm his frantic heartbeat, massaging Potter's thighs through the denim, nuzzling the hardness in his crotch. Then, before he could lose his nerve completely, he tugged open the Muggle fastenings and dragged the trousers down.

This probably wasn't going to be fun - _but I'll take his lust over his pity any day._

"You don't have to -" Potter managed.

"Scared I might bite?"

He was treated to a sudden flash of anger in those green eyes, and Potter's fingers wound into his hair. "That's not funny!"

_Yes it is. _A sudden sadistic impulse made him scrape his teeth against Potter's cock as he slowly slid it into his mouth. Potter's hips jerked. Draco felt hot flesh fill his mouth, his throat, tasted Potter on his tongue…and tried desperately not to gag. This wasn't as easy as it looked. Potter made a desperate, slightly strangled sound - which was ridiculous, Draco thought vaguely, _he _was the one choking to death - then he moved.

_Warm. Human. _Real. It wasn't exactly how he'd planned it - he couldn't breathe, or swallow, and even screwing his eyes shut couldn't stop the tears forming - but Draco found himself relishing the demanding hands in his hair, the sharp pain in his scalp as his head was yanked back and forth, everything suddenly taken out of his control. The only things left in the world that mattered were Potter's lust, Potter's cock - and the rather brain-breaking realisation that he couldn't call this a diversion, or a favour, or a personal challenge…this was a _pleasure_…

* * *

Some part of Harry knew that he was clutching at Draco's hair much too tightly, thrusting too hard and too fast… He was probably hurting him - but even the sudden guilt at that thought wasn't enough to make him stop. He _couldn't _stop. Draco's lips were a tight ring of sensation, his mouth so hot and wet... Harry's knuckles were almost the same colour as the soft, silky hair he was gripping so tightly as he plunged back and forth, and whoever would have thought that Draco would do _this_, _want _this?

Draco had closed his eyes, long eyelashes glinting against flushed cheeks. He looked so innocent - but his fingernails bit into Harry's arse, thrillingly close to drawing blood, and he seemed to be trying to wrap every inch of his tongue around Harry's cock. Not innocent at all - filthy, and astonishing, and _perfect_… He felt Draco's sudden whimper vibrate up through his cock, into his balls, and that was _it _- Harry would probably have to count how long he lasted in seconds rather than minutes - again - but every part of his body was seizing up in one massive spasm of pleasure -

Draco wrenched himself free, leaving strands of hair still wound around Harry's fingers. Harry sank to his knees, little shocks of pleasure still jolting through his body, his cock still pulsing and twitching. Draco was on his hands and knees, but he didn't gag or spit - he gulped, looking determined…_then_ started coughing.

Harry didn't know whether he should feel guilty or exhilarated. But, as heavy-limbed and sleepy as he felt, some sort of payback was definitely in order. An arm around Draco's waist and a quick tug brought him tumbling back into Harry's lap. His swearing was easily silenced by a kiss, and his struggling stopped abruptly when Harry slipped his hand beneath his robes.

As Draco thrust eagerly up into his hand, and he tasted the bitter taste of his own come in the other boy's mouth, Harry decided to go with exhilarated. He could never get tired of seeing Draco like this, all swollen lips and hungry eyes - so natural and unconstrained - _and it's _me_, I make him look like that…_ Equally addictive was the way he unravelled helplessly under Harry's hands, entire body trembling, back arching, long slim legs spread in surrender, bitten-off cries and splattering come followed by a loose-limbed collapse into Harry's arms. _God._

"What were we talking about?" Draco mumbled, and Harry grinned.

"I can't remember," he said, fingers leaving a wet trail down the inside of Draco's thigh. Draco shivered, and Harry felt his grin get wider. _Nothing _could feel any better than this. "It couldn't have been important."

The only response he got was a slightly sceptical "Mmpf" sound and Draco's head lolling back against his shoulder.

"It _isn't _important," Harry whispered, and buried his face in Draco's hair. "Not to me."

"Um, boys? You might want to get a room." The calm voice thoroughly broke the moment. Draco frantically tugged his robes down over his knees and Harry tried not to drop dead of sheer embarrassment as Livia stood and watched from the door to her room. "Or hold that pose while I go for a camera."

The heat rushed up Harry's neck and into his cheeks as he pulled his jeans up and wished he could just disappear. Her amusement seemed to make the whole thing worse.

"Sorry to disturb you, by the way - all the grunting and groaning made me think my professional services would be required - and the locked door just made me suspicious." She twirled her wand in her fingers. "Ever heard of Alohomora, boys?"

Draco scrambled to his feet, smoothing out the creases in his robes. "A couple of minutes earlier and you _would_ have been wishing for a fucking camera," he said. His hauteur would have been more impressive if he hadn't just been laid across Harry's lap with his robes up around his waist but Harry had to give him points for trying. "Tell anyone about this and I'll -"

Livia grinned. "You'll what?"

"I'll spread rumours," Draco said, completely straight-faced, "about the unspeakable things you do to your patients when they're unconscious. I'm sure I can come up with some suitably shocking abuses of trust and power."

Livia laughed. "I'm sure you could! I'm terrified!" She looked at him, then at Harry; Harry met her gaze and was surprised to see a kindly glint in her eyes. "And slightly envious, believe me. I haven't done anything worth photographing in months." Draco opened his mouth - she cut him off as if she knew what he was about to say. "I've already told you - _Ravenclaw_." Draco grinned and raised his hands as if to ward off an attack - then he did something completely unexpected - he stepped up to Harry and draped his arms around his neck.

"Actually - go ahead. Tell everyone. _My _reputation couldn't really get much worse around here." His eyes glinted as he met Harry's startled stare. "Potter's, on the other hand… Do tell. The fallout out would be hilari-"

Even with an audience, he was so perfect to kiss. The kiss was part dare, part making a point, but Draco reacted as he always did, all heat and hunger, surrender and challenge. _Perfect_. It took all Harry's self-control to pull back. "Do you really think I'd be _ashamed_?"

"Enjoy yourselves, children." Harry heard Livia's laugh, and the soft click of the door shutting, but he was too focused on Draco to even care. His eyes were unreadable, but his lips parted helplessly…so tempting…

Harry didn't really want Livia to tell. The thought of people gossiping about 'the Chosen One' finally getting laid made him cringe, and there _would _be gossip, and the gender of his lover (and that description certainly didn't suit Draco, but Harry couldn't think of anything better) would only make the news more tasty. _Not that it's anyone's business but mine, and I don't care - _

Or he _hadn't_ cared. The fact that Draco was a boy, and that he should probably be freaking out about that, hadn't even crossed Harry's mind - until he'd got that indisputably male body under him, and discovered that every inch of Draco, bloke's tackle _very _definitely included, was a total fucking delight and _exactly _what Harry wanted. _Should I be ashamed of that? That I want to return the favour - and it wouldn't even be a favour, because I already know how good he tastes… _His cock gave a hopeful twitch.

"I don't want to go back to that room," Draco said suddenly.

"Fair enough."

He pulled free of Harry's arms and started off down the corridor. "I'm going for a walk."

Harry fell into step beside him. Draco shot him a sharp look, and he was careful to make his shrug as casual as he could. "What? I'm not cleaning up that mess by myself." _And I'm actually worried about him wandering around a Muggle town at night by himself…god. I _should_ be worrying about what might happen to any Muggles he runs into. _"And some fresh air would be nice."

Draco gave a curt nod. "Please yourself." Then he glanced over at Harry and treated him to a quick, rather evil, grin. "But if you turn out to be boring company I reserve the right to ditch you."

* * *

"You _really _don't know anything about your family?"

"I know who my parents were," Potter said, sounding rather defensive. "And my mum's side -"

"Not _them_ - the Potters. What about your grandparents, your great-grandparents, your _ancestors_? The Potters were a fairly good old family, right? There must be plenty of information out there about them -" Potter sat on the grass by the side of the path and stared up at the lightening sky. Draco studied him and wondered if he'd ever be able to work him out. "You don't care, do you?" he said slowly. "You've never bothered to even ask anyone?"

The realisation shook Draco to the core. How could Potter not care about his ancestry? His _history_? "You don't care about who you are and where you came from?"

"I came from Lily Evans and James Potter," Potter said quietly, "and all the family trees in the world won't help me remember them any clearer. And I'm _me_," he added, more firmly.

_I'm _me_ too. _But Draco was also the son of Lucius and Narcissa, grandson of Abraxas, a descendent of Aristide, Fabian, Phrixus, Caelestis, Deimos, Evadne, Aeneas, and so many more. His ancestors had fought Dark Creatures, goblins, demons, Muggles and other Wizarding families with equal vigour, had raised hell and forged treaties, created spells to tear the world apart while also pouring their energies into making the Wizarding world strong and safe, and had been feared and respected in equal measure. _And that's part of me - how could it not be?_

"Everything your ancestors did, everything they _were_, that's all gone into making you 'you', you arrogant bastard. You didn't spring fully formed from a demon's brow - you must have more family connections than a couple of dead parents and grandparents you don't even know the names of."

"Draco -" Potter's tone had a hint of warning in it.

"_Fine_." Draco stood up, shaking leaves and dry grass from his robes. "You are just _you_, and you were conjured out of thin air, by some evil person intent on making my life miserable."

Potter scrambled to his feet. He hadn't bothered to put on a shirt, and the sheen of sweat over his wiry torso was strangely fascinating…downright touchable… His trousers had slipped down, revealing a strip of skin shockingly pale against all the gold; Draco stared at pointed hip-bones, let his eyes follow the sparse line of hair down from Potter's belly-button to where it disappeared beneath the denim, and tried to remember how to breathe. "Which would you rather be?" Potter asked with a grin. "Bored or miserable?"

"Good question. Neith-" Potter didn't try to argue with him; he just cut Draco's words off with a kiss that stopped him talking, breathing _and _thinking. "That's cheating," he managed as Potter finally let him speak.

"I'm learning," Potter whispered. His breath tickled Draco's lips, his fingers were warm and hard against his scalp, and it was just so easy to kiss him back - so easy and natural and _right_. Only it _wasn't_ right, or sensible - Draco could feel the St Christopher pressing against him, safe in the inside pocket of his robes but a constant reminder that he was going to have to go to Snape that morning - in less than half an hour, if the position of the sun was anything to go by. He had to _lose_ Potter, but there he was, revelling in his fierce, clumsy, oh-so-earnest kisses, not even wanting to get away…in fact, the grass verge was staring to look very tempting…

Potter must have had the same idea, because a leg hooked around Draco's and a quick push later, they were both sprawled on the grass. Being pinned to the ground by Potter was hardly a new experience, but Draco's reaction to it was. Only the other boy's transparent eagerness kept it from being totally humiliating as he dug his fingers into sinewy muscles and ground his body up against Potter's - and his robes were such a nuisance…

Potter jerked back, rolled off him and sat back on the grass, knees clutched against his chest. Draco was about to protest when he heard laughter and voices from further up the path, and the sound of uncoordinated footsteps on the gravel. He followed Potter's lead and sat up, smoothing his robes down over his knees and trying to breathe normally. He picked grass out of his hair and let his face settle into a well-practiced expression of boredom.

He caught the stench of alcohol before the two Muggles came around the corner. The smell came from the metal containers they were both drinking from, but they looked like they'd been partaking of it all night. Draco slid his fingers into his sleeve, and touched the smooth wood of his wand.

"Oh, look - the gypos are in town!"

"Keep walking, mate," Potter said calmly. "We don't want any trouble."

The Muggle who'd spoken looked at Potter, blinking as if he was having difficulty focusing. His girlfriend stared at Draco, fingering the large gold hoops that hung from her ears. He refused to look at her bare legs and cleavage, or the over-muscled torso of her companion. What was it with Muggles and showing off their body parts? Even Granger did it, and in her case, at least, it probably wasn't meant to be alluring or slutty - so what was it? Some kind of animalistic show of strength or sexuality, like monkeys with brightly-coloured rumps?

"Oi, Lestat! Keep your eyes off my bird!"

Draco didn't understand the reference, but he knew an insult when he heard it, especially when the girl started giggling and even Potter stifled a laugh.

"But he's so _pretty_," she said as she was dragged away. Draco watched their unsteady progress along the path with narrowed eyes, and pulled his wand from his sleeve.

"No!" He got the hex out just before Potter got to him and shoved him back against the grass. "What have you done?" Potter demanded.

"Genital warts. Not very dramatic, I know, but you do insist on leaping on me. I hardly have time to get my spells out." Potter glared down at him; Draco shrugged. "Go after them and reverse it, if you care so much."

"I can't believe you did that."

"They were _laughing _at me," Draco said, aware of how sulky he sounded but not really caring. "_You_ were laughing at me."

"They're _drunk_ - and I…I'm sorry." Potter didn't look apologetic; he looked like he was going to start laughing again. "It's just…" He forced away his grin and tried to look serious. "Lestat's just a character from a film. You -" that laughter welled up again "- you wouldn't get it."

"I'm sure I wouldn't," Draco said coldly. He pushed Potter off him and stood up. A quick glance down the path showed that the Muggles weren't coming back, but - "I'm going back to the hotel."

"Are you really that scared of them?" Potter asked, his laughter suddenly gone.

"_What_? I'm not scared of Muggles!"

"You looked at them like they were savage animals that could attack any minute."

_That's because they _are_. _This conversation was _not _going to go well. "Would you rather I thought of them as quaint and amusing like your chum Weasley? They're not cute, and they're not funny - they're dangerous."

"Not to a wizard," Potter said, and that one comment, that placid acceptance of all the drivel they'd been fed at school, made something snap inside Draco.

"_Really_?" he said, loading that one word with all the contempt he could muster. "Tell that to the witches and wizards who were killed and maimed in the Burning Times. Tell that to the Muggle-borns who never get to answer their Hogwarts letter, to the witches and wizards who disappear every year in the Muggle world. Take a wizard's wand and he's helpless - do you really think they're incapable of figuring that out? They did before. We're superior to them, but _we're_ the ones who have to hide." Potter didn't say anything - he was just staring at Draco, eyes wide. Draco could almost smell the bridges he was burning, but he just took a deep breath and kept going, unable to stop.

"Do you have any idea how insulting it is, for those of us who had ancestors die in the Burning Times, to be taught about Wendelin the fucking Weird and her tickling fetish while their very real suffering is just wiped from the history books? You know what real, non-sanitized history tells us? Muggles use us, or they kill us." All those words, just cast upon the air, because Potter sure as hell wouldn't be taking them in. "Or we kill _them_," he added nastily.

_Fuck him - I don't care if he understands or not._

* * *

Draco wrapped his arms around himself and looked away, suddenly looking very fragile. Harry suddenly wondered what he'd thought when the Muggle girl had been giggling about his 'prettiness' - had he taken that slightly-sideways compliment as a threat?

_Muggles use us, or they kill us._

The whole speech had hit Harry hard. He would have been revolted by an 'all Muggles are animals' defence, which was what he'd feared he'd get - but at least he had a good solid retort ready for that…

"Muggles aren't like that anymore," he said eventually. Then he thought of the Dursleys. Harry suspected Vernon would have enjoyed a good public burning of the 'wrong sort'. "Well, most of them aren't."

_You can't blame people for something their ancestors did_, he wanted to say. But then he remembered some more of Draco's words. _'Everything your ancestors did, everything they were, that's all gone into making you 'you'…'_

Harry felt sick. _How do you fight an attitude like that? _He wrapped his arms around the other boy's shoulders, not really shocked by the tension in him. "It's all in the past," he said. _And, god, that's pathetic - but what else is there to say?_

Draco snorted. "Not if the Dark Lord has his way. Giants attacking Muggle army bases? He _wants _them all to know about us." His voice dropped. "He wants a war with them."

Harry tried to sound confident, though the thought chilled him. "He has to go through us first."

"Oh, yes - I forgot. You're going to save the world." The cynicism was back in Draco's voice; Harry was actually glad. "I hope that 'us' means the Order, and not you and me. I'm sure you can imagine my views on standing between the Dark Lord and the Muggles."

"I can." The words came out harder than Harry intended. "But first, before we do anything of the kind, we're going to find those two drunks and you're going to take that hex off them."

"Oh, I am?"

Harry tightened his arms around Draco. One step and they were both in the bushes by the side of the path. Another step and they would be over the edge of the cliff. Oh, it wasn't such a steep drop, but the fall would probably result in a few broken bones.

Draco twisted in his grip. "What are you doing?"

"You know when you virtually pushed me off the roof - were you completely sure I could Apparate to safety?"

Some earth gave way beneath Draco's foot; he swore as he tried to keep his balance. "Of course I was. Fuck's sake, Potter - this is -"

"I'm glad you trust me. I never thanked you properly for that, did I?" Harry gave him a bright smile and gave in to his sadistic side. "Side-along okay with you?" He stepped them both off the cliff.

* * *

Draco's feet met thin air, and then he was falling, Potter's arms still wrapped tightly around him.

"You complete fucking -" He barely had time to panic. His body felt like it was being stretched, torn between gravity and the tug of Potter's Disapparition, and he just had to go with it, _trust _Potter -

The Apparition felt like a punch impacting on his entire body at once. Draco had never in his entire life experienced such a rough Side-along Apparition - and had never Disapparated so completely sure he was going to die. But there was suddenly sand beneath his feet, and Potter was laughing like an idiot, his controlling grasp turned into a rough hug.

Relief and adrenalin were a potent combination. Draco's heart raced and he was suddenly aware of every inch of his miraculously still intact body. He was torn between raging at Potter for his recklessness and wanting to snog that stupid laughing face senseless. The latter option was more attractive. _But I can't pass up such a perfect excuse to get rid of him._

The thought was cold, and it thoroughly killed Draco's buzz. The anger he showed as he tore himself free of Potter's embrace was real - but it wasn't really directed at Potter, despite the verbal abuse Draco threw his way.

_Why is everything so fucking complicated? Why can't I just have some fun?_

His feet slipped in the sand as he marched away.

_Because I'm not supposed to be having _fun. _This _thing _with Potter is not supposed to be _fun_. _

"Draco! Wait!"

Draco ran up the steps from the beach. The zigzag path had walls of greenery and tiny man-made grottos - Potter wouldn't be able to see the Portkey take him.

_I'm letting him use my body so that I can use _him. _That's all this is…_

* * *

"Draco!"

_What a fucking overreaction…I guess he didn't trust me quite as much as he claimed._

Harry set off after Draco. His every hasty footstep threw up sand, erasing the other boy's prints. He didn't understand what had happened - for a moment, as the world snapped back into place around them, Draco had been a vision of wild, bright eyes and teeth bared in a fierce grin. Then the shutters had come down in his eyes, the grin had turned into a snarl, and he'd started to spit out insults. Harry was still stinging from the onslaught, and furious - but he was also confused.

_What the hell just happened?_

Draco was nowhere to be seen as Harry trudged up the cliff path. He hadn't Disapparated - Harry would have heard him - so he had to be hiding. _Git - this really isn't the time to be playing games. _What had he got to be so angry about, anyway? He was the one who had demanded not to be bored.

Rock closed around Harry as he stepped into one of the grottos. The dawn light was just starting to creep into the little cave, but dark as it was, it was just as stiflingly hot as outside. "Draco?" He got no response. All he could hear was the crunch of his own footsteps on the gravel, and the gentle murmuring of the sea.

The touch started as a tingling at the back of his brain, a sudden jolt of emotion that didn't belong to him - could never belong to him, because he would never feel such total rage, such a terrible desire to hurt, to punish, to destroy…

It was only a flash, one moment of connection he tried to frantically push away, but it told him so much. Voldemort was enraged (and slightly scared?), and he wanted to tear open Lucius Malfoy's skull and make him eat the contents. But he had to find him first…

Harry screwed his fists against his eyes, fought the hate slipping into his veins like poison, tried to block out the lovingly-detailed plans that flickered through his head - how to make Malfoy suffer, how to make him scream, and puke, and grovel, and _pay_ -

The connection broke. Harry remembered how to breathe, and the hot air suddenly seemed clean and pure as he sucked it into his lungs. Cleaner than he felt, anyway. Unfortunately, there was no way to scrub out the inside of his brain after Voldemort had touched it - the dirty feeling would linger long after the images had faded.

He hadn't even been asleep. _That's bad. That's _really _bad…_

Harry put a trembling hand out to the rock wall, trying to steady himself. But the rock itself seemed to be shaking…

The walls of the grotto tore themselves apart in a storm of sharp splinters. Harry tore his wand from his pocket as the splinters plucked viciously at his flesh - and the ceiling collapsed on top of him.

* * *

"The Agars and the Fulkes are helping the Order? Interesting. They always seemed so steadfast in their loyalty."

Draco met sharp grey eyes and gave Snape his most innocent smile. Snape's use of Polyjuice no longer creeped him out. It was quite nice, really - if he didn't think too hard, Draco could make himself believe he was actually talking to his father. Though how Snape was getting hold of Lucius' hair - or other bits of him - for the potion still bugged him. Surely his father would never allow that…or had he really become so careless?

"Of course, the Shards and the Vavassurs aren't quite so trustworthy." The twitch of Snape's lips could almost have been a smile. Almost. "A slip of the tongue, perhaps, Draco?"

Draco shrugged. "I wanted to see how good your other sources are."

"So you're not attempting to protect these families?"

"Muggle-lovers?" He didn't even need to protest that. _He knows me better than that._

This time the Portkey had brought him to a narrow gallery overlooking the Lower Hall. And this time there had been no flailing around in the darkness - Draco's very presence had been enough to set the great torches ablaze. He looked down over the gathered ranks of statues, each and every one of them staring up at him, and was grateful for the light and open space at least.

"You're not interested in names, anyway," he said quietly. "That's not why you threw me to Potter." Now was the time to test his theory. Draco didn't know what would be more satisfying - to be right about Snape, or to know something Snape didn't? "You want to know about Horcruxes - and how close Potter is to finding them." Snape didn't say anything. His heart beating faster, Draco gripped the carved stone parapet until he could feel every imperfection through his fingertips. "I presume it is 'them' - I know about two already."

"Two?" The one word was neither confirmation nor denial. Draco slowly turned to look at his teacher. The handsome mask he wore showed no emotion.

"An athame once belonging to Rowena Ravenclaw, and a cup of Helga Hufflepuff's - I think the badger crest kind of gives it away."

"Potter has these?" And there it was, confirmation. _Though congratulations on my brilliance would have been nice._

"Oh no. Apparently my cousin Regulus got to the athame first, back in the days when he was still breathing. And the cup…well, _you _have it, don't you, _sir_?"

"I do not." The flat denial took Draco's breath away. Snape had _never _lied to him - oh, he slid around answers he preferred not to give, but flat-out lies had always seemed to be beneath him. It never even occurred to Draco to doubt him. _I might need to have a cosy little chat with Cassiopeia's portrait._

"Potter thinks you do."

"Potter can think whatever he chooses to - his 'thoughts' are not fact." Snape looked at Draco for a moment. "I knew you would figure out what I needed from you."

"You could have just _told _me."

"And if you were put under Veritaserum?"

"I _was_. I passed."

"Obviously. Very well - the Dark Lord made six Horcruxes. Two have been destroyed - I wish to recover the other four. What are you smirking at, boy?"

"It's good to finally know where your loyalties are."

"Really?" This time Snape did smile. "Then let me give you something to ponder, since you 'know' so much. What do you think the Dark Lord would do to someone who knew his secret - even a loyal retainer whose only wish was to warn him of the danger? If said loyal retainer had any sense of self-preservation, he would attend to the problem himself, gathering up the items for safe-keeping."

"Safe-keeping and leverage," Draco added quietly. Snape raised an eyebrow and gave him a small - rather approving, he thought - nod. Draco could see the possibilities there, all right - used correctly, such a stash could be an extremely powerful bargaining tool, a way for Snape to rise even higher…or for Draco to protect his family… _And I wouldn't even need _all _of them, just the last surviving one…_

"Don't plot, Draco. _Obey_."

Draco didn't say anything. _Fuck, was it so obvious what I was thinking? I need to work on that. _"Is my father content to 'obey'?" he said eventually. _Because the last time I saw him was just before he killed a gang of Death Eaters and fucking _bowed_ to Granger…_

Snape didn't reply immediately, which suggested - to Draco at least - that, no, Lucius Malfoy was _not _being obedient. "I haven't seen Lucius in over two days. The castle has become a death trap, apparently determined to drive us out. I believe the two to be linked, and so does the Dark Lord. Come with me." Snape didn't even give him a chance to reply, he just swept through the archway and disappeared down the stairs beyond. Draco hurried to catch up.

As they stepped into the Lower Hall, he heard the creak of the statues moving, their expressionless faces turning to watch them. He could feel their eyes on him as he followed Snape towards the altar - and he reminded themselves that they were just lumps of carved stone, even less 'alive' than portraits.

But that feeling of being watched - scrutinised, even - didn't go away, and Draco had a sudden fear that the statues could see past the blond hair and masks of respectability, to the Dark Creature and the impostor walking in their midst. Every slow movement increased his tension.

If Snape was concerned, he wasn't showing it. He nodded respectfully to the statues as he passed them, just as Lucius would have, showing due deference to 'his' ancestors.

The statue of Lady Evadne stood apart from the others, by a hole torn in the stone wall - a hole just large enough to climb through. _I don't remember that being there before… _Draco glanced at the old statue nervously as he stepped forward, towards the eerie glow that spilled out through the opening, propelled by the curiosity that had first led him to explore these catacombs. _And curiosity killed the cat. _But Evadne made no move to even look at him, much less 'talk' to him - and for that he was very grateful.

Beyond the hole was another cave, much smaller. There were no torches in there, but light flickered off the rough walls and across the pool of water that took up most of the floor. The light was actually coming from the water, he realised. It was strangely beautiful…

Then Draco saw what was floating in the water - long blond hair trailed across the surface like weeds in a pond… Snape caught hold of his arm just as he was about to plunge forward.

"That is _not _Lucius," he snapped. Draco blinked and stared at the body. Snape was right - it was too small. In life it had been someone who could be called petite, not his tall, majestic father. The panic drained out of him.

"Then who?"

Snape glanced back to the opening in the wall. The statue of Evadne had moved to face them. "Someone, I think, who would be very glad to meet both the Dark Lord _and _Potter. Lucius opened this room."

Draco crouched down beside the pool. A briny smell filled his nostrils, complete with a sickly sweet undercurrent that made him _really _glad he hadn't dived in. The person in the pool was beyond saving, anyway. Long beyond saving. The body wasn't decayed, exactly - perhaps the flesh had rotted, but her waxy skin was intact and stretched tight across sharp, prominent bones. And it was a woman - he was sure of it. He looked back at the statue to find 'her' staring right back at him. The cave was so cold he could see his breath as mist in the air. He had so many questions, but only one forced its way out of his mouth. "What interest could she have in Potter?" The statue wasn't listening - _couldn't_ be listening - but it came out as a whisper anyway.

"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned," Snape intoned, sounding amused. "Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned." He moved to stand next to Draco. "Alas, I have no access to the lady's thoughts. All I know are the legends, and I suspect they do not do her justice. You didn't ask if she could live again," he said thoughtfully, "or how much I know of your father's plans. Your thoughts went straight to Potter."

"Pure coincidence, I assure you," Draco said with dignity. _It meant nothing. Potter's _nothing. He felt his stomach twist, and a sting of pain inside his ribs. _Nothing at all._

* * *


	24. Chapter 15

A/N - sorry for the delay. The next chapter will be up a lot quicker!

* * *

15.

"She does want to live again," Draco said quietly as he stepped back out into the main hall. He dipped his head respectfully as he passed 'Evadne', trying to ignore how vulnerable the back of his neck felt as he did so. A frantic little voice in his head informed him that she could snap it with one blow.

"Undoubtedly." Draco didn't think Snape was taking that momentous news with quite the gravity it deserved. "Have you been eating well?"

"What?"

"The change takes its toll on your body," Snape said quietly.

"Oh."

"You need to ensure you get a good intake of protein - plus calcium and a good range of bone-strengthening minerals."

Draco didn't know how to reply to that. Even if Snape was just keeping up the pretence of being concerned for his welfare, this practical discussion of the change caught Draco off guard. He was incapable of thinking about it so rationally - god, he'd barely got past wanting to go and curl up in a corner whenever he _did _think about it.

Snape seemed to take his silence as acquiescence. He pressed a wad of parchment into Draco's hand. "If you're careful and don't make any mistakes, the potion should only take twenty-seven hours to brew." Draco looked down at the parchment. He didn't have to ask which potion the instructions were for - there was only one that would be any use to him in his current situation. "I've experimented with the ingredients, and simplified it somewhat to remove the necessity of fermenting time. It won't have the efficacy of Belby's original formula, but it should…take the edge off."

The parchment crumpled between Draco's fingers. _That's it. Snape's telling me to brew Wolfsbane potion. This is actually happening…I'm going to -_

He forced his face into a rictus of a grin. "So, no last minute miracle cure, then?"

Snape didn't say anything. Long blond hair swept across his face as he looked away.

Draco tried to make his voice light. "You've let me down. I thought you could do _anything_."

"I'm flattered, Draco, but miracles are beyond my capacity."

He wasn't going to shout, and he wasn't going to cry. Not that either would have any effect on Snape or the universe anyway.

"It may not be necessary," Snape said. Draco barely held back a snort of derision. If _Snape _of all people was trying to comfort him, however coolly, then his situation was really bad.

_Werewolf… Werewolf… Werewolf…_

His vision blurred. Purely tiredness, he told himself - he _wasn't _crying. The statues went from fearsome monsters to dim shapes at the edges of his sight - hardly anything to be concerned about.

_Werewolf…_

He bumped into Snape's back as the older man abruptly stopped walking. What Draco saw when he looked up drove all thoughts of Wolfsbane and changes from his head. For a moment he thought they were looking into a mirror - until he saw that he wasn't there. Only Lucius, looking at his doppelganger and his son as if _they _were the mirages, not him.

"Is it necessary to torment me like this?" His eyes stared straight at Draco, but he wasn't speaking to him, or to Snape. His voice was sharp and cold, and his face was as calm and composed as Draco had ever seen it. Draco would have been relieved to see his father in such good health - if he hadn't been talking to thin air. "I know the rewards and the risks of our course. This -" He waved his hand dismissively at Draco and Snape. "- is excessive."

"Father."

Snape caught hold of Draco's shoulder as he pushed past him. "_No_."

Draco could hear chains rattling down far passageways. He could smell salt-water and decay in the gale that suddenly tore at his clothes and whipped his hair free of its binding, and he could almost make himself believe he could hear a voice in it, attempting to whisper in his ears.

Lucius' eyes narrowed. "Severus?"

Snape stood exposed as an impostor, surrounded by statues that were Lucius' weapons to command, and didn't even flinch. He gave Lucius a perfunctory nod, barely even respectful. "_Finally_. We need to talk, Lucius."

Lucius looked him up and down. "So presumptuous, Severus," he drawled, and for a moment, everything seemed normal. Draco let himself breathe. "I hardly need ask where you got my hair - I _hope _it was my hair - and not anything else."

"You gave me the opportunity, Lucius," Snape said calmly. Draco listened to the faint edge of scorn in his voice and relaxed even further. It was exactly like old times - or it would have been if the way Snape spoke to his father hadn't reminded him uncomfortably of how Draco spoke to Potter. "It would have been rude not to take it." It _really _reminded him of how he spoke to Potter. He peered at the two men, trying to read their body language. _Nothing. It's just my imagination…my _sick _imagination…_

They stared at each other. Around them, the statues creaked, and Draco felt a new flicker of alarm.

"You don't belong here. You shouldn't have come."

The statues moved.

Draco didn't have time to think - if he had he would never have done something so _stupid_. But his body moved on its own. He barely had time to realise that he was in front of Snape, to slam his eyes shut as crumbling stone arms reached out for him -

Seconds past, and he was miraculously intact. He cautiously opened one eye, took in the clutching fingers halted less than an inch from his throat, and quickly shut it again.

"_He _belongs here," Snape purred. If he was concerned by his close brush with death, his voice didn't give him away. "They see him as a Malfoy."

"And I do not?"

"Draco - you can go." Draco felt hands on his shoulders, easing him to one side, away from the statues. "I don't think your father will let them kill me. He was just…making a point."

Lucius stood still and silent as the wind tore around him. His eyes were cold and hard. Draco looked at him, then at Snape, still within reach of those reaching arms. The Polyjuice may have made them look superficially the same, but now he could easily tell the difference. He wondered at Snape's confidence. Draco wouldn't trust his father an inch in this strange mood.

_If he didn't order that attack, he certainly made no attempt to stop it._

"Very well, Severus - talk. You're good at that."

_And there's no place for me in that talk. _As he walked away from the two men, Draco didn't bother to look back. He didn't expect any acknowledgement of his departure from either of them.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Draco blinked in bright sunlight, and carefully checked his body for accidental splinchage. Three hundred miles - but it felt like he'd Apparated between worlds rather than counties. He let himself drop into the sand, listened to the soft murmuring of the surf and the distant shouts of Muggles as they set up the funfair, and wondered if he should expect an apology or a fight from Potter. He found his mood lightening - which was ridiculous, because nothing had changed in the past few minutes.

Draco had the instructions for Wolfsbane Potion in his pocket, and Snape was probably being torn apart right at that very moment -

_Potter doesn't do apologetic very well - he'll probably still be angry…_

He got to his feet.

Blue lights flashed on the cliff top. For a moment his breath caught and his blood pounded - until his brain caught up with his eyes. It wasn't a battle, just the lights of Muggle emergency vehicles - he'd seen them before, at the hospital.

He might not have Apparated back into a battle, but there was something wrong…

He looked up at the zigzag path. Where before it had disappeared into little grottos in the side of the cliff, now it was blocked by boulders and rubble -

His heart and lungs seemed to stop working, but he ran up the steps two at a time.

This didn't necessarily have anything to do with Potter… _But who fucking else? Who else is so -_

A figure stepped out to block his path. Draco saw the wand in the other man's hand and reacted on instinct. His draw-and-flick movement was so smooth and fast he impressed even himself; his disarming spell didn't just rip the wand from his opponent's hand - it sent him staggering as well.

Only he wasn't an 'opponent', was he? Draco recognised him as one of Livia's patients. _Strawby or Starkey or something. _The realisation didn't stop his move into a proper fighting stance. _Seaby - that's it._

There was an answering flash of recognition in Seaby's eyes as they flicked over Draco's robes, then up to his face. "Malfoy, isn't it? Bloody hell, you're fast."

"What the fuck is going on?"

Seaby gaped at him. "Where the hell have you _been_? Every witch and wizard in Folkestone must have felt it - so much magic poured into the one spot. Even the _Muggles_ noticed the explosion. It's a miracle Potter's still alive under there - _hey!_"

Draco pushed him aside. Ahead of him, he could see figures moving about amongst the rubble - they were wearing Muggle clothes, but he could see wands in their hands. It was impossible to levitate boulders discretely, but they were attempting it. He heard one of them call out, and a stretcher was carried over. Draco broke into a run.

"Careful! Be gentle with him!" Draco recognised Livia's dreadlocked head as she bent over the stretcher. The limp body they placed on it was covered in rock dust, but he was sure it had black hair -

"Potter!"

"No." Draco's headlong rush was stopped by an arm thrust firmly into his path. "Unless you've got hidden Healing skills, you can't be any use there." Draco angrily rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve - anyone's eyes would be watering after running into a werewolf at full speed - and glared at Lupin. The worry he saw in his eyes diluted the anger somewhat. "We've got a whole crowd - including police and paramedics - to Obliviate and send on their way before we can take him up to the hotel. I'm sure you can help with that."

Draco could hear Livia muttering to herself as she ran her wand over Potter's body. He looked over at them - then jumped as Lupin's hand landed on his shoulder.

"Listen to me. Harry's strong - and more powerful than even I imagined. He was shouting at us through the rock up until a few minutes ago. He'll be all right."

Potter's head moved. He probably wasn't even conscious, but Draco was sure he could see a glint of green between the dust-caked eyelashes - looking straight at him.

Lupin was right. There was nothing Draco could do for him. His impulse to go over there and shake Potter conscious certainly wouldn't be appreciated by Livia.

"Come on - make yourself useful."

* * *

The first thing Harry saw when he opened his eyes was Livia's wand pointed straight at his face. "Five o'clock in the morning," she said, "I have to fight off mutant spiders. _Six _o'clock, you get a cliff dropped on you. Is this some evil plot to deny me sleep and send me crazy?"

Harry tried to sit up - the movement set off aches in so many different parts of his anatomy that he gave up. "Everything hurts," he managed. But the soft bed was a definite improvement on half a ton of rock pressing down on him. The day was looking up.

"I've dealt with the fractures and the lacerations and the more serious contusions," Livia said, and gave him a grim smile. "But I am leaving you _some_ bruises - just to remind you to take more care of yourself in future."

"That's a bit harsh." The sound of Ron's voice made Harry move despite the pain. He twisted his head to look at him - and saw who was sitting beside him. He groped on the bedside table for his glasses before remembering they were broken.

"I fixed them for you." He felt the glasses pressed into his palm. Hermione gave Harry a warm smile as he put them on and she came into sharper focus. "Just like old times, isn't it?"

Harry grinned back at her; Livia turned on Ron. "I get tetchy when I don't get enough sleep," she said. "And that's partially your fault as well, Snoring Wonder." She looked at Hermione and grinned. "If he tells you he was awake at your bedside _all _night, he's lying."

"I _was_!"

"You're awake." Harry was stating the obvious, but he didn't know what else to say. The relief was overwhelming; he felt like he could get up and jump around the room, bruises be damned. The pain didn't stop him reaching out to Hermione, and almost falling out of the bed as he swept her into a fierce hug.

She laughed as she returned his hug. "Just in time, apparently - other people needed the bed! I finally got a good night's sleep. And the dreams were good!"

As he pulled back, he looked at her face. Hermione didn't look like she'd had 'a good night's sleep' - the rings under her eyes were like bruises, and her face was pale and drawn. "You look terrible."

Her smile faltered. "You're not the picture of health yourself," she said.

"What happened?"

"I would have thought it was obvious. The athame had a rather nasty curse on it -"

Hermione shot a quick look at Livia. The other girl got the message. "You need rest," she told Harry firmly as she gathered up her things. "I've put a tracking spell on you. Get out of that bed, even for a call of nature, and I'll be right back up here. Understand?"

"But -"

"It won't kill you to spend the morning in bed, Harry. Even if you don't have Smart-Arse to keep you company." Hermione's smile froze. Ron frowned, but couldn't have picked up on Livia's full meaning, because there was no explosion. "Where is he, anyway? The quiet's starting to get unnerving."

"I don't know," Harry said. He thought his last sight before passing out completely had been a shocked face framed by bright hair, but he was starting to wonder if it had just been his imagination. What if Harry's attacker - and it _had _been an attack, he was sure of it - had gone after Draco too? The thought made him sit up so suddenly it made every inch of his abused body hurt. _Someone needs to find him._

"Do you think we'd trust him near you, after this?" Harry heard Hermione's words, but it was a moment before understanding crashed down on him.

He had to fight to keep from shouting. "You think _Draco _did this?"

"Who else?" Ron sounded - and looked - irritated. "And don't say he's not capable of murder, Harry. Don't tell me you've forgotten what Malfoy _is_. He almost did for me and Katie last year. Just because he's hanging around you like your new best friend -"

"Is _that _what this is about? You think you're being _replaced_? Well, maybe that's a good plan, because -"

"_Stop it!_" Hermione shouted. With both Harry and Ron staring at her, she took a deep breath and continued, her voice trembling, "Both of you. Stop it. Neither Ron nor I are jealous of Malfoy, Harry. We're just worried about you."

"_Don't_. Or, if you have to, worry about Voldemort or his Death Eaters getting to me." Harry sighed. The anger had faded, and he tried to think of some way to explain. He needed logic, not emotion, to convince them. _Right - just the thing I'm not so good at…_

"Draco's not a killer, and even if he was, he's had me alone often enough - why has he waited until now? And if he is still working for Voldemort, wouldn't he take me to him, rather than trying to do the job himself? If he's _not _working for Voldemort, why would he try to kill me? I'm the only person on his side. It doesn't make sense."

"Well, _I _rather like him," Livia said. "And if you two are going to get Harry agitated, you can leave."

"I caught him eavesdropping on Moody and Lupin," Hermione said, with the air of someone producing a trump card. "They were discussing Order business and -"

The door opened. "And I like listening in on other people's conversations," Draco said calmly. "Knowledge is power, Granger." He leaned against the wall and glared at everyone in the room. When he met Harry's gaze, his eyes were cold and hard. "And, sometimes, the conversations are about me. Masterly summing-up, Potter. I'm impressed. Is your brain hurting after producing all that common sense?"

* * *

"I was lying when I said I liked you," Livia said.

"Thank fuck for that," Draco replied, but his eyes never left Potter. "Can't I leave you alone for ten minutes without you doing something stupid?" The words were almost a plea; only Weasley and Granger's presence kept Draco posed in the doorway, rather than marching over to Potter and shaking him.

Potter shrugged and winced. "Apparently not."

"It might have escaped your notice," Granger said sharply, "but Harry was attacked."

"Who by? I'll have to send them a thank-you card."

Potter's mouth twitched into a smile. Weasley stared at him, his expression a mixture of horror and disbelief. "You actually like_ that_?"

"'That' has a name," Draco said. He wasn't too insulted, really - at least Weasley took Draco's careful indifference and snide remarks at face value. Unlike Potter, who was smirking at him as if he could see past every line. _Potter smirking? Me only being able to fool Weasley? The Apocalypse is here…_ "Have you passed on my deductions to your fawning minions?"

Potter did wince at that. Weasley stood up, and Draco watched him. He was caught up in so many grand games - at least he could play one of his own, even if it was only with Weasley.

"Did you tell him -"

"About the Horcruxes? Give me some credit, Weasley. It wasn't hard to work out."

Potter looked over Draco's shoulder. He heard Livia sigh.

"I know when I'm not wanted. If you want this lot out of here, Harry, just get out of the bed. I'll be right back."

"R.A.B. is - _was _- Regulus Black," Potter said as soon as the door had closed behind her.

"Sirius' brother?" In his excitement, Weasley forgot all about Draco - which _was _slightly insulting. "So the locket and the cup could be at Grimmauld Place? Brilliant!"

Draco didn't say anything. Potter looked at him and grinned. _"You're brilliant." _Draco remembered the words, and what had followed them - rough kisses and cocks crushed together by entwined fingers - sex like single combat…whoever broke first lost…

These robes weren't as thick and all-concealing as his own, sadly-ruined, set. Draco sat down on the closest chair and arranged some folds in his lap. _All he did was fucking _grin _at me. Pathetic. And I'm supposed to be angry with him…_

He looked at a patch of bare floorboards by his feet. Livia had apparently managed to Vanish a section of carpet as well as the spider 'sculpture' - a fact that made him slightly dubious about letting her treat his injuries in the future. That was a good train of thought - Livia and her knowing smirk plus the spiders equalled a sudden droop that would have been embarrassing in other circumstances, but now was a blessed relief.

"_You _are going to stay right there," Granger was telling Potter. Draco listened to her snarl and decided that _he _would definitely obey her. "Livia said you needed to rest, and I agree with her. We'll check it out."

"It could be dangerous -"

"And it would be less dangerous if you were with us?"

"_More _dangerous, I'd say."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Granger snapped. "I don't need your help."

"And you won't get it." Draco gave her a sweet smile. "Are you sure _you're _up to gallivanting off looking for Horcruxes? You look like hell."

_That_ touched a nerve. She glared at him. Old Granger would have slapped him or blubbered _then _slapped him. The new, not-really-improved version just stared at him with venom in her eyes. "Well, I'm sorry my current appearance doesn't live up to everyone's exacting standards."

"What standards? I just like my girls to look like they've actually got a pulse."

Granger got to Weasley before Weasley got to Draco. Potter froze, one foot almost on the floor, as Draco looked at the point of Granger's wand.

"I don't know why Harry likes you," she said, "but he does. Hurt him and I'll curse your family unto the fourth generation. Understand?"

Draco smiled up at her, trying to keep his astonishment from showing on his face. _That's the kind of threat I'd expect from Pansy, not Granger - and even Pansy would only ever say something like that in jest…_ Granger was absolutely serious. _She can't understand what she's saying. _He kept smiling, and said quietly, "Do that and I'll wipe yours out. That's presuming either of us live long enough to have children, of course."

"Hermione?" Weasley sounded confused - and as shocked as Draco felt. Granger blinked, and Draco watched the hardness leave her eyes, her expression change - as if she was changing into a different person in front of his eyes. It was only to be expected, he told himself - everyone was under stress, battle affected different people in different ways - but it still made him feel uneasy. He could smell seawater and decay - _but that's just from my robes. No need to get paranoid._

"We're all on the same side," Potter said. "Draco - stop baiting everyone. Ron, Hermione - you're only making him happy by rising to it."

"Spoil-sport." The words came out gentler than Draco intended, but Potter did sound - and look - so tired. He wouldn't be any fun to tease.

He was suddenly aware of both Granger and Weasley staring at him. Which was unnecessary - perhaps 'gentle' wasn't what they expected from him, but it didn't mean they had to stare as if he'd grown a second head.

"I'm sorry." And Potter didn't have to talk to him like that - if Draco's tone had been 'gentle', then Potter's was more like a caress.A teasing caress - but that didn't make it any better - _and _it put unwelcome images in his head.

"I _was _glad you're not dead," Draco said. "But you're making me change my mind." Potter just grinned at that. Green was such a cold colour - it wasn't natural that his eyes could look so warm. _Smug bastard._

"We'll go to Grimmauld Place." It was obviously a day for 'gentle' - Weasley put his hands on Granger's shoulders, but so lightly it seemed he was worried she would crumble under his touch. To Draco's surprise, he got a smile rather than a slap. _Whoever would have thought it - the idiot's actually making progress._ "Try not to kill Malfoy while we're gone -" He paused. "What am I saying? Kill him, _please_."

"Hilarious." Draco crossed his arms and gave Weasley his best glare. "I'm dying of laughter."

Weasley actually had the nerve to smirk at him as they left. _Can this day really get any worse?_

Potter pulled his knees up to his chest and stared at him. _And here come the Sixty Questions…_

Draco got there first. "How the fuck do you nearly get killed going from the beach to the fucking hotel? No Death Eaters in sight, all these people here to protect you - but you still somehow manage to put your fucking life in danger? How do you do that?"

Potter blinked in the face of his rant. "I didn't _make _the cliff fall on me," he said mildly.

"Then someone's trying to kill you!" Draco found himself on his feet - and angrier than he had any right to be. After all, it really wasn't his business if Potter wanted to get himself killed. "How can you be so _calm_ about that?"

That prompted a startled smile, and a shake of Potter's head. "Welcome to my life," he said - and was that a little trace of bitterness in his voice? "Why do you think I spent so much time in the hospital wing while I was at school?"

"Because you're clumsy?" Two steps forward and he was at the side of the bed. "Because you liked the cards and flowers? Or because you were always chasing trouble?" Draco's fingers curled into the bed-covers, and he leaned over to shout into Potter's face - and he still didn't know why he was so angry. "Harry fucking Potter - no Evil Plan left un-foiled! Stupid, self-righteous -"

"You know _nothing _about me, do you?" He'd managed to get Potter angry too - and made the mistake of getting too close to him. Quite a big mistake, Draco decided, suddenly flat on his back, Potter glaring down at him, fingers digging hard into his wrists. "Trouble chased _me_. Do you really think I _chose _all this?" Even covered in bruises, his glasses barely hanging on to the tip of his nose, he was breath-taking in his fury. Much as Draco hated to admit to being scared of Potter, it was less humiliating than the _other _reason his blood was suddenly pounding, his stomach screwing itself into a twisted, painful knot.

Potter's grip tightened. As mild discomfort turned into outright pain, Draco was hard and hating him - _really_ hating him for the first time in so long -

"Fine - now I want to kill the bastard. I wouldn't walk away from this even if he let me. But do you think I went 'chasing trouble' when I was a baby? Or when Quirrell was trying to knock me off my broom in my very first Quidditch match?" Those enraged eyes were replaced by a mop of black hair as Potter hung his head. "I never wanted _any _of this!"

Potter's fingers twisted as if he was acting out wringing the Dark Lord's neck; Draco managed to stifle his cry of pain behind a bitten lip, but an embarrassing whimper forced its way out anyway. It stopped Potter dead.

He let go of Draco's wrists and sat back on his heels. "Sorry."

Draco gingerly moved his hands. Nothing appeared to be broken - but his skin was bright red and… _Are those actually _fingerprints_?_

"You sadistic bastard," he said slowly, making a fist as he stared at the marks. They were going to bruise, he was sure of it.

* * *

Harry should have been expecting the punch, he decided as his vision spun and his ears rang. If he was honest, he deserved it. But, as his glasses bounced off the sheets and disappeared off the edge of the mattress, he caught Draco's fist as it swung towards him a second time - he was repentant, not masochistic.

"So, have you finished emoting about your tragic past?"

_Screw 'repentant'. _

His own punch snapped Draco's head back and splattered blood over flawless skin. It got rid of the sneer - even Draco couldn't sneer with a bust and bleeding lip - but satisfaction was quickly overtaken by guilt again…then anger at the guilt, because he wanted to fucking pound him into the mattress, and Draco was deliberately pushing his buttons now -

_And _I_ actually warned Ron and Hermione about rising to it…I thought I was immune…_

Harry's body was moving almost independently of his brain. He was dimly aware of Draco swearing at him, spitting blood over the white sheets, but he had a handful of Draco's hair and he yanked him forward, tasting his blood - again - as he kissed him, and…wasn't he supposed to be punching him?

…_I thought I was in control…_

He suddenly found himself shoved back, Draco's fingers wound into the fabric of his pyjama top. But he still had hold of Draco's hair; they fell back onto the mattress together in a sprawl of awkward limbs.

"Are you in rut _again_?" Draco spat. But his snarl turned into a gasp as Harry's mouth found the arch of his throat, and Harry could feel his erection digging into his thigh. Which was a damn good thing, because he didn't think it would be physically possible for him to back down or let Draco go now. The limit of his self-control was not drawing more blood as he bit at creamy skin, glorying in the marks he left and the moans he forced from Draco's mouth. The long moments they spent tangled up in each other's clothes as they tried to get them off were among the most agonising of his life.

"You know, you shouldn't be so rough." A stab of pain shot through Harry's thigh as Draco dug his fingers into one of his bruises. "With you all beat up like this -" The gloating pleasure in his voice really shouldn't have made Harry shiver like that. "- I could really make you suffer."

One swift lunge that made all Harry's abused muscles ache, and he had exactly what he wanted - that long elegant body flattened against the scruffy bed sheets, every inch of that fantastic skin either pressed up against his or waiting for exploration. "Whatever happened to 'I'm glad you're not dead'?"

Draco smirked up at him. "You'd be no _fun _dead," he purred, and Harry laughed. A hell of a lot of things had changed since the last time he'd heard that from him. "Suffering, on the other hand -"

Harry shook his head in mock disgust. "Sadist." He eyed the long line of Draco's neck.

Draco licked the cut on his lip. "Look who's talki-" The sarcastic comment was cut off with a gasp, and his whole body arched up against Harry's. Yes, that spot just below his ear-lobe was just as sensitive as Harry remembered.

His whole body was ridiculously - wonderfully - sensitive. The softest brush of lips against his neck made him tremble, a tongue tracing the dip in his collarbone made his cock jerk and his nipples turn into hard little nubs just begging to be licked and sucked - and, yep, doing _that _made him whimper and writhe, his cock suddenly making a slick trail against Harry's ribs. It was too much. That hot hunger was swelling up inside him again, the blood pounding in his head so hard it almost hurt. When Draco tore his hands free and frantically pushed at his shoulders he went down willingly. More than willingly.

He clutched at Draco's hipbones, pressing him back into the sheets, left not-so-gentle bite-marks on the soft vulnerable skin of his belly, pressed his nose into translucent curls that weren't as soft as they looked, and set about indulging his craving for the feel, taste and scent of him with what he knew damn well was more enthusiasm than skill.

Still, Draco wasn't doing any complaining. His fingers twisted into the sheets, his thighs trembled under Harry's touch, his cock throbbed against Harry's tongue -

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ -" That definitely wasn't a complaint. _God__…_Harry was swept up in his taste, intoxicated by his smell - every shudder, every gasped curse made the want stronger, his mouth more demanding.

"Pot-" And, okay, maybe his taste wasn't quite _that _perfect - but at least Harry managed not to gag this time. He was too busy exulting as Draco shook and almost sobbed beneath him. "Fuck-"

* * *

Draco sucked air into his lungs and frantically fought the tiredness trickling down his limbs. Potter released his bruising grip and sat back on his heels, that stupid grin plastered back on his face. He reached out to brush back the strands of hair stuck to Draco's forehead; Draco feebly batted his hand away and did it himself.

The grin faltered, but the expression in Potter's eyes remained the same. It said 'my turn'.

_Fuck that. _So, for some bizarre reason Draco seemed to find Potter attractive - it had become rather impossible to deny that - and he was certainly good at getting Draco off. _But he owed me one. _More than one, actually, what with the bruised wrists and bust lip, not to mention the cliff-thing and the almost-getting-himself-killed-thing.

Draco smiled up at Potter, stretched sensuously - and slipped his hand into the folds of his discarded robes. _That wand has to be in here somewhere. Ah._

"Was that…all right?" Potter actually sounded uncertain.

"Stick with the caveman routine - it suits you better." Sharp words, but Draco found himself smiling as he said them. _Ridiculous_.

"Well -" That grin flashed again. "- when you put it like that -" Draco was promptly pinned back down by Potter's sweaty body - and it was just more proof that the universe had a sick sense of humour, the way he responded to that. He was tired and sated - but arousal jolted through his body, and his cock twitched with renewed interest -

"Bastard!" Draco moved; Potter was caught unawares - he had to be, to be flipped over on his back so easily. He was strong - there was no way for Draco to pin him down…but that wasn't the idea… He pulled his wand free of the robes.

"_Incarcerous_!"

"What the -?" Potter's confused expression as he struggled against the ropes was almost cute - _almost_.

"I was really fucking worried about you, you smug git!" Ok, so Draco _really _hadn't meant to say that. Spewing out your emotions was obviously infectious. And dangerous - because Potter would _always _take those little moments of honesty the wrong way -

Yes - Potter was staring at him as if that totally reasonable concern for his life - and it _was_ reasonable, because the git couldn't be allowed to die until he'd killed the Dark Lord and given Draco his life back - had been some grand declaration of… Draco shuddered. He couldn't even think the word. He clambered off the bed and grabbed his robes.

"You're not going to just leave me like this?" The sudden panic in Potter's voice was like sweet music to Draco's ears.

"Why not? _I'm _finished. And no doubt Livia will be pleased - it's one way to keep you in bed and resting." Draco looked at him. He had been a little too forceful with that spell - the way the ropes dug into Potter's skin didn't look very comfortable. The way he was struggling against them, on the other hand, was quite interesting… "You know, this situation has its possibilities…" He knelt on the bed, ran his hands over Potter's bound thighs, and bent his head to apply a slow swipe of his tongue to Potter's cock. The other boy's desperate moan vibrated through his body, and it seemed Potter didn't even need to hold Draco down to be a threat to his self-control. _Fucking wonderful. _

Draco patted Potter's leg and stood back up. "Think of this as payback for throwing me off a cliff."

He had his robe back on and was heading for the door when Potter spoke again. "You know," he said, his voice choked with lust and desperation, "I _will _get you back for this." There it was again - not a threat, but a _promise_.

Draco threw him a mocking smile. "Try it," he said - and left the room with his blood pounding, his cock hard and his legs humiliatingly weak. _Merlin help me - am I actually looking forward to it? _

* * *

The hard-on wasn't that difficult to get rid of. Just thinking about his father and Snape and "you gave me the opportunity, Lucius," was as effective as a cold shower. The words could have been innocent…_no_, they _were_ innocent - Draco's situation with Potter had simply left him with a rather blurred line between comradeship and more 'intimate' relations. He shuddered. _I am _not _going to think about that._

The whole visit 'home' had been a nightmare. The creaking of the statues as they moved, opening his eyes to see clutching stone fingers barely an inch from his throat - those were things Draco knew would haunt him in his dreams. And he'd come back to find Potter being dug out of the cliff-side. No wonder he was irritable and on edge.

He had the sense it wasn't just him, however. There was something in the air. The hotel over-looked the beach - that the smell of the sea hung thick in every room wasn't _that _weird, but it made him uncomfortable. And that smell had brought with it what he could only describe, lamely, as a _feeling_…like the tension felt in the air when watching the preparations for a duel that everyone _knows _is a grudge-match. Such duels had never gone the distance at school - the ability to get to a duel before it turned _truly _nasty was a Slytherin prefect's most important skill - but he'd seen it happen at the castle. The Dark Lord very rarely stopped a fight, even when the Killing Curse and more sadistic spells started flying. Hate and aggression hung in the air like static electricity before a thunderstorm.

Draco thought about Granger's threats, and felt at the bruises on his wrists. No, it wasn't just him - the others could obviously feel it, even if they hadn't recognised it for what it was. But where was it coming from?

A sound behind him broke his train of thought - another sound that was now firmly nightmare fodder - something scuttling along the skirting boards… Draco held his breath; even his heart seemed to have stopped beating as he slowly turned around, pulling out his wand.

A small, furry shape darted across the floorboards. The last syllables of Avada Kedavra became a startled bark of laughter; the mouse lived to see another day.

_I _am _on edge… _And his father and Snape and Granger and Potter had almost driven Akunin from his mind. Which was dangerous - the old librarian wouldn't give up so easily.

There were more reminders of Akunin in Potter's room. No one had been to clean it - broken chitin and bits of spindly legs were glued to one wall by solidified black gunk, and the bed sheets were dark with dried blood. _Draco_'s blood.

He hurried to the wardrobe. Since Cassiopeia hadn't been gaping at them last night, he supposed Potter had forgotten all about his promise to put her portrait up where she could talk to people.

The air in the room was foul and barely breathable. He pulled out an armful of screwed-up clothes from a drawer - and the portrait dropped onto the floor.

"You two are _mean_!" Draco remembered why the best place for this portrait _was_ at the back of a drawer. Cassiopeia scowled up at him as he picked it up, and for a moment he actually felt sorry for her.

_Just paint and canvas. _"And you're a really good liar."

It took a few more years than she'd had to perfect the full Malfoy poker face, and this really was a finely-painted portrait - he couldn't really miss the flicker of alarm that crossed her face before she recovered and pouted at him. "What _are _you talking about, Draco? You really are so silly sometimes."

"Snape doesn't have the cup, Cass. You lied. Not just to Potter, but to _me_, your supposedly beloved little brother." He added a layer of threat to his voice. "That _hurts_. It really does."

"I'm not allowed to tell!"

"Malfoys stick together, Cass. We don't stab each other in the back."

"I didn't -"

"If I don't get hold of that cup, our whole family will suffer."

"But Tom made me promise!"

"Mother and father too."

Her lip trembled. "He was my only friend! I _promised_."

"Your mother and father, your little brother - we're all going to die because you want to keep a _promise_?"

She burst into tears - and now Draco was too angry to feel sorry. _It's just dabs of paint on a canvas, anyway… _"You're a _Malfoy_ - what's a fucking promise when your family's in danger?" _What's a fucking promise anyway? Worthless words - unless they're backed up with an Unbreakable Vow._

"I had to hide it. That horrible man was going to take it away from me!"

"_Where_?"

"It's safe! I took it through the maze, to the caves - our ancestors are looking after it!"

There was really no satisfaction in making a little girl cry - even if she was a representation of Cassiopeia, who while alive had regarded getting tears out of her baby brother as a rather fine game.

Draco sighed. He'd had enough of those caves to last a lifetime. Snape might be convinced that the castle still regarded Draco as a Malfoy, despite his 'illness', but that place was the nearest a pile of stones could get to certifiably psychotic. He did _not _want to go back.

He heard another scuttling sound behind him. _Bloody mice._

_

* * *

_

I'm going to kill him. This time I'm really going to kill him.

Rolling onto his front had been a definite mistake, Harry decided as he tried to free his hands while trying to avoid moving the rest of his body. There was one particular fold in the sheet beneath him that was in a _really _bad place,and thinking about what he was going to do to Draco when he got hold of him wasn't helping much.

He bit into the pillow to stifle a moan, and continued to work at his hands. His skin was slick with sweat - getting his hands free would be painful, but it was possible. He was _not _going to lay there helplessly waiting for Livia - or an even more humiliating possibility, some innocent well-wisher - to come and free him. He was _not _going to give in and hump the mattress. He was going to find Draco and…well, maybe he wouldn't kill him straight away.

What kind of twisted bastard would do something like that? Tying Harry up - well, Harry could see the possibilities there as well as Draco could. But just leaving him there without even getting him off? That was seriously cruel.

He froze and listened carefully. _Please don't let that be -_

He could hear footsteps in the corridor.

He had a choice - which would be more humiliating, the unsuspecting person being presented with his bottom or his - _god, maybe if I roll around a bit I can wrap myself in the covers…_

He heard the latch click. A draft of slightly cooler air wafted across his naked body as the door opened. What a way to die - choked by his own embarrassment…

"Um…_Harry?_"

Lupin sounded as if he didn't know whether to be appalled or amused. Harry buried his burning face in the pillow.

"Don't ask. Please don't ask."

"I suppose you do _want _to be untied?" Apparently, he'd decided to go for amusement.

_Wonderful. _"Yes."

Then they heard it.

It was only a small sound, muffled by distance, but it set every alarm in Harry's head ringing. Anger and humiliation were swept away by a sudden surge of fear and concern.

A girl was screaming.

* * *

Cassiopeia's wails were seriously annoying. Draco didn't know if it was the spiders that were scaring her, or the wall of flame he'd conjured up to keep them at bay.

Not that the flames were doing much good - the creatures clambered over each other like maggots trying to escape a bait-box, burning up as they tried to get to him. They smelled even worse cooked than they did splattered. He thought he was going to suffocate from the fumes - and he felt like screaming as loud as the portrait.

"The athame was a fake, you bastard!" The shout was stupid, pointless - how would Akunin hear him? - and he should be saving his breath for his spells, but he couldn't help himself. The whole thing was just so unfair. Draco hoped darkly that Granger was getting a visit too, now she was conscious and could fully appreciate it. "You'd already been cheated - by Black! And his curse burnt the book!"

He couldn't keep this up - he was going to set fire to the entire room, and then where would he be? Stuck in a burning building with the little monsters still after him? _No thanks._

"All you can get from us is a burnt book and a fake athame!" Draco thought at first he was imagining it, but yes, the creatures had called a halt. They watched him with glowing eyes through the fire. "What do you want?" he asked, more quietly.

There was sudden movement among the seething mass. It looked almost as if they were…attacking each other?

Then they were gone, popping out of existence as easily as they had the night before, leaving behind their dead brethren and a word spelled out on the ruined carpet in broken chitin and gelatinous black gunk.

_**RESTITUTION**_.

"Shit." Draco let go of the spell, sank to his knees, then threw up.

* * *

Harry cautiously opened the door. The smoke that billowed out smelled of burnt flesh and decay and made his eyes water. The screams had turned to terrified sobs. He wasn't sure what he'd see as he stepped into the room -

Draco's wand flicked around to point at him. Harry took in the burnt creatures, the word written on the floor in their entrails, the vomit on Draco's robes - and was at his side in seconds. For once there were no complaints from Draco as Harry wrapped his arms around him - he just buried his face in Harry's shoulder and hung on so tightly it made all Harry's bruises ache. He felt the cold gunk on the floor even through his hurriedly pulled on pyjama bottoms.

_But he's all right. He's all right. _"_Who _can't be left alone for ten minutes without doing something stupid?"

The body in his arms tensed up. Draco pulled free and made some effort to regain his dignity; Harry didn't know if he should be glad or sorry. "That's still you, Potter." His fingers dug into Harry's bare arms. He was still shaking. "That'll _always _be you."

Lupin stood in the doorway and surveyed the mess with an unreadable expression on his face. "I've let this go on long enough," he said quietly. "I may not be your teacher anymore, Harry, and I have tried not to be over-protective." Harry listened to his voice harden and felt suddenly lost. Even at Hogwarts, Lupin had been as much a friend as a teacher. Now he listened to the voice of a man who was responsible for so many lives, not just his - and knew what his next words would be. "But I need some explanations. _Now_."

* * *


	25. Chapter 16

16.

The candlelight tinted Draco's hair and skin the same delicate shade of gold. Even his eyes were golden and warm as he blinked up at Harry. "Please." The word was breathed out through lips made swollen and pink by their kisses. Harry almost took pity on him - _almost_.

"I can't hear you."

The iron bed frame made protesting noises as Draco writhed against his bonds, lean body slick with sweat but breathtakingly beautiful, perfect skin shown to its best advantage against the blood-red sheets. "Please," he said, louder, the one word full of need and frustration. Harry watched those long slim legs spread for him and heard himself groan aloud. "Fuck me, Harry. _Please_."

How could he refuse a request like that?

Harry clambered onto the bed, hooked his arms under Draco's knees and -

_Yes…_God, that was amazing, even better than doing it between his thighs -

Draco looked up at him, grey eyes suddenly clear and sharp and distinctly lacking in golden adoration. "You did read up on this, didn't you, idiot? Whatever happened to lube and preparation? And I would never beg, _Potter_. And you fantasised away my scars and my Dark Mark - you shallow _bastard_ -"

Harry woke up, reaching out for Draco even as he blinked in bright light and tried to breathe in hot, heavy air and his brain caught up to the fact that he was alone in bed. The bed sheets stuck to his skin as he tried to roll onto his back, his usual morning wood irritatingly present and correct. Hardly surprising, given that dream - though the ending of it should have made him wilt a _bit_.

He sighed and reached down to deal with it. He didn't need fantasies - he could call up memories of a blond head in his lap, or entwined fingers crushing his cock against Draco's, or muscular thighs pressing tighter and tighter until he was almost begging for mercy -

As he bit off a moan, he was suddenly aware of a stony silence in the room, a distinct lack of Ron's usual snoring. _Oh, fuck, no__…_The sudden flood of humiliation got rid of his hard-on in a rather less pleasant way than he would have liked.

With an entire floor of the hotel in a scorched mess, Harry's own room in a similar state except for added crushed mutant spiders, and a new influx of volunteers needing beds, sharing a room with Ron had seemed like a good idea. Or, at least, the kind of offer that couldn't be turned down without seeming like an ungrateful prat or revealing just who he'd really like to be sharing with and why.

_Thank god the room's got two singles at least. God, this is awkward…_

They both laid there in silence for a few minutes. Then Ron cleared his throat. "You need to get laid, mate. Really."

Harry tried to laugh. "This is going to be one of those things we never mention again, right?"

He heard a somewhat forced chuckle from the other bed. "How good are you at casting Obliviate? Or am I going to have to go with booze and pouring bleach in my ears?"

"Booze doesn't work. Seamus tried it last year, when _someone_ kept waking everyone else up every night." Harry lobbed his pillow in Ron's general direction, and heard an "uff" and a laugh. "Oooh, Laven-" He was cut off by the pillow being returned, with added violence.

"I can't help it if I'm crap at silencing charms!"

* * *

One pillow fight and one - thankfully solitary - shower later, the embarrassment had faded. Oh, the incident probably _would _get mentioned again - like the love potion incident, or Ron's forgetfulness when it came to silencing charms, or Seamus' rather traumatising experiment with engorgement charms. He had a feeling Fred and George would be teasing him about it at some point in the next twenty-four hours.

At least Ron didn't know who Harry had been dreaming about. There'd be no joking about _that_; Ron's trauma would probably never end.

Neither the good mood nor the fresh and revived feeling from the shower lasted long. Harry got only a few steps down the corridor before his clothes were stuck to his body again. The heavy, humid air stank of rotting seaweed - unsatisfying to breathe, though that wasn't the worst of it. The worst was the way he felt his temper rise.

It was an alarming feeling, as if someone else was in control of his emotions. Harry had the mad thought that perhaps it wasn't him at all, that the anger and the frustration were coming from beyond him, carried on the air like that rancid smell, sucked into his body with every laboured breath he took.

He found himself holding his breath. The thought was pure fantasy, however - Harry didn't need an outside force to manipulate his feelings. He had more than enough reasons to be angry.

It was good to have other people helping in the search for the Horcruxes, of course it was, and it was good that messages had been sent to Akunin, and that his attacks had ceased, however temporarily. And Lupin hadn't lectured Harry, or tried to scold him.

He'd just taken everything out of Harry's hands. Harry understood why, but it made him so _angry _-

The corridor seemed to be going on forever. A little voice in his head seemed to be ordering him to keep walking, and he noticed it - and recognised the feeling that went with it - at the very moment he tried to push back the anger.

_Imperius?_

_Fuck that._

Every scrap of willpower he possessed surged up against it.

The corridor walls flickered, changed, and when the world snapped back into focus he was on the third floor landing of the grand staircase. His hands reached out automatically for the broken banisters as he stepped out into thin air…and the Imperius broke.

Harry wobbled for a moment, balanced on the toes of one foot. A queasy flicker of vertigo shot through him as he looked down past his outstretched foot. It was only twenty-or-so feet to the tiled floor of the foyer - he'd fallen from greater heights than that while playing Quidditch, for God's sake - but he still felt shaken as he eased back from the edge…shaken, but rather exhilarated.

He might be currently forced to sit on the substitutes bench when it came to the war, but someone was still trying to kill him.

_I really shouldn't be so happy about that._

* * *

Draco drifted between sleep and consciousness, in a comfortable haze of tiredness and potions fumes. The table was hard against his head, but it was so nice to close his eyes -

"Stir Cauldron One!"

_Fuck, so _soon_? _But while his brain was wishing he hadn't enchanted the egg-timer to shout at him, his arm was already reaching out to do as it said.

It took him a moment to realise that his wrist was gripped by strong fingers, and to wonder why the timer now sounded like Harry Potter.

Draco forced open one eye.

"You've got a couple of minutes before the timer runs out," Potter said, grinning down at him. His thumb rubbed against the sensitive skin above Draco's pulse, and Draco bit back a moan and pulled his arm free. Draco wanted to punch that grin off Potter's stupid face, especially when he shrugged - _stupid revealing Muggle clothing, stupid lean muscles, stupid tan-lines…_ "I couldn't resist."

"You're so funny." Draco frowned as he saw a steaming mug of coffee and a bowl of what looked like beige sludge amongst his carefully laid out herbs. He reached out for the coffee with slightly embarrassing eagerness, then noticed that the sludge had a spoon in it. "Are you expecting me to _eat _that?"

"It's Weetabix," Potter said. Draco stared at him. _And that really doesn__'__t answer my question._ Despite the coffee, his mouth was suddenly dry - and he really wasn't interested in talking about the gloop. But Potter, it seemed, was. "Ok, so I might have put too much milk in it, but it won't kill you."

Draco looked down at it and wrinkled his nose. _Food talk it is, then. _"Don't you have lightly scrambled eggs on toasted muffins, or warm croissants with chocolate sauce, or -"

He looked up to see Potter smiling at him, a mixture of exasperation and amusement in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, sir," he said, his voice loaded with sarcasm. "We did try to get the staff, but there aren't too many five-star chefs on the run from Voldemort."

Draco managed to hide his reflexive flinch. _What__'__s wrong with him? Does he think dropping the Dark Lord__'__s name all over the place makes him look tough?_

"There wouldn't be. Most Death Eaters are of a class raised to appreciate quality food." He poked at the sludge. "This isn't quality food."

Potter grinned and dropped himself into a chair. "Just drink your coffee, snob." He stretched slowly. Draco took a hasty gulp of coffee and made an undignified squeak as the hot liquid damn near scalded his throat.

This wasn't fair. Potter could usually be guaranteed to jump him whenever he was feeling horny - what was _wrong_ with him?

"Cauldron One." _That_ was the timer. "Stir in five, four, three…"

Draco reached out automatically and started to stir. He clutched the coffee and watched Potter through the steam. The other boy studied him right back, that stupid smile still in place, his bright eyes moving over Draco's face as if taking in every detail.

Draco was suddenly irritated. "Haven't you got anything better to do than bother me?" he snapped.

Potter didn't even have the decency to be insulted. Draco kept stirring the potion as the other boy's fingers slid into his hair, palms brushing against his cheekbones, breath too warm against his forehead. He was focused on his task, not distracted by Potter's sudden grooming urge _at all_, but he couldn't help arching his neck, appreciating the slow rub of Potter's fingertips against his scalp, the delighted shivers that slipped down his spine. "You're weird."

"You're beautiful." The word was mumbled against Draco's forehead, and Draco was almost certain he had heard it wrong. _Though, Potter _is_ a sentimental idiot._

Potter suddenly lurched back and started coughing, his eyes streaming.

"Oh yes," Draco said calmly. "You don't want to breathe too deeply over that cauldron. The fumes are corrosive." He allowed himself a slow, evil smile at Potter's horrified expression. "Or they would be if I hadn't cast a filtering charm. Fuck's sake, Potter - I'm hardly a wet-behind-the-ears first year puking over my first frog intestines. Breathe before you burst."

"Git."

"You make it _so_ easy." Draco gave the potion a final stir, turned over the egg-timer and sat back comfortably in his chair. The contents of the two smaller cauldrons were simmering away nicely, his carefully-prepared tinctures were lined up neatly in flasks, ready to be added, and Potter… Potter had that _look _in his eyes again, the one that made Draco's chest tighten and his cock throb. It was almost enough to make him forget just why he was brewing the potion. _Almost._ _As if I could forget _that.

_He won't think I'm beautiful tonight. Well, not unless he's got a fur fetish…_

* * *

It was painful to watch the mischievous glint fade from Draco's eyes. "Was there something you wanted?" he said dully.

_You, actually. _But Harry could hardly say that, with Draco looking down at the potion as if he was making the poison for his own execution.

"I-"

The door slammed open behind him. "Through here, Dung," Livia said as she manoeuvred a crate into the room. "I'm not going to ask how you got hold of this, but I certainly owe you one."

Harry stared at the little man as he followed her into the room. Mundungus Fletcher caught sight of him, dropped the box he was levitating and froze like a rabbit staring at an approaching set of headlights - which was almost exactly the same expression he'd worn the last time Harry had seen him…trying to sell the things he'd stolen from Grimmauld Place…

_And both the locket and the athame could have been at Grimmauld Place. _Ron and Hermione had had help from Fred and George in turning the old house inside out. They hadn't found anything, but -

_They _were_ there. I know they were._

Harry looked at Fletcher, and felt a sudden flicker of excitement.

Fletcher flinched and held up his hands as if in pre-emptive defence. "Now, Harry, you're not the sort to go holding grudges, are ya?"

Behind him, Draco gave a snort of disbelief. Harry shot him a quick glare, and smiled at Fletcher. "Actually, I'm really glad to see you, Dung."

Mundungus looked at him suspiciously for a moment, then beamed. "So, that little 'misunderstanding' we had - it's all water under the bridge, forgotten and forgiven? Comrades in arms and all that?"

Harry's smile was starting to hurt. From the way both Draco and Livia were staring at him, the expression was probably turning into a grimace, anyway. "Who cares about a few old trinkets?" _Which belonged to _Sirius_, you little git. _

_Keep smiling._

"Heh, that's the spirit. I always said you were a good lad, Harry - much too noble to be concerned with grubby material possess-" Harry caught hold of his collar.

"Except that a couple of those trinkets I _do _care about. A silver locket and a blunted dagger? Ring any bells, Dung?"

Fletcher's eyes flicked from side to side; the little man looked for all the world like a rat searching for the nearest bolt-hole. "Not one clang -"

"Who did you sell them to?" Fletcher's eyes widened in alarm, and Harry just managed to stop himself shaking him. "This is really important -"

Fletcher Disapparated. Harry overbalanced, and reached out blindly to stop himself falling. His fingers knocked against something shiny as he caught hold of the table, something that slid away from his hand -

He heard the crash of glass against the tiled floor at the same moment that he realised he was still holding a neatly severed piece of Fletcher's robes. _He _did _take them - and he__'__s too frightened to tell me who bought them -_

Draco made a sound very close to a wail.

Harry hardly dared to look. When he did, he saw Draco on his knees on the floor, hands plucking at his pale hair, his face frozen into a look of pure horror. Pieces of broken glass lay scattered on the tiles, amongst clear liquid that was already evaporating into the air.

"Please tell me there's powdered moonstone somewhere in those boxes?"

Livia blinked and tore her gaze away from Harry. "Not unless the dragon ate it before it died and got dissected."

Draco took a long, laboured breath and slowly lifted his head. "You _bastard_," he hissed, surging to his feet. "You complete…fucking…clumsy…gormless…stupid… _Do you know how long it took to prepare that?_" His hands were back in his hair. "This can't be happening!"

* * *

"You're actually happy about this, aren't you?" Draco whispered.

He couldn't see Potter - that Invisibility Cloak was a very useful thing - but he felt the other boy's hand squeeze his shoulder. "I'm just relieved to be away from the hotel," Potter said softly. "Don't worry about the potion. It's got a good babysitter."

Draco edged further back into the covered doorway, until his back met roughly nailed down boards. A couple of cloaked figures scurried past his refuge as the first fat raindrops began to fall. He wanted to protest - to remind Potter that this wasn't a pleasure trip, and that _Draco_ had important things to do back at the hotel, even if Potter didn't - but he thought he understood. The air was lighter here, if no cleaner. He had so many things to worry about, but he felt as if the unseen vice around his chest had been loosened.

Back in his old life, a trip to Knocturn Alley had been an exciting thing, always looked forward to. Perhaps these were just echoes of those old half-forgotten feelings.

"You did tell Granger the potion was for Lupin as well?"

"Hermione wouldn't sabotage your potion." Potter actually had the nerve to sound amused.

"She threatened to curse my family."

That shut Potter up, but only for a moment. "She didn't mean -"

"She meant it." There was no point to this conversation; Potter wouldn't believe anything bad of his friends. Draco remembered Weasley's shocked face. "Ask the Ginger Whinger if you don't believe me. _He _got it. Ask him about blood feuds and…well, let's call them the 'Bad' Old Days, shall we?"

Draco adjusted the fine bandages around his face and pulled his hood further forward. A covered face was practically the rule in Knocturn Alley, but he still felt exposed as he stepped out into the rain, even with his invisible bodyguard behind him. _Best do this as quickly as possible._

The rain bounced off the overhanging eaves and the bar-signs crisscrossing the narrow street, driving hard against dark leaded windows and creating gushing streams amongst the cobbles. Along with unpredictable swirls of raindrops, the wind carried with it a smell that reminded him of childhood - wet ashes and smoke - the smell of a rained-off bonfire party. Draco pulled his cloak closer around him, thankful for its waterproofing charms.

He'd always thought that the Dark Lord's victory would turn Knocturn Alley into the party capital of the Wizarding world, but if any of its denizens were celebrating, they were doing it very quietly.

He passed a cloaked shape slumped in the gutter and kept his eyes averted. Perhaps there _had _been celebrating. _The quietness could be down to a huge collective hangover._

_Yeah, right._

At least the shop he wanted appeared open. Warm light shone behind its grimy windows, and he picked up his pace, only to be stopped by an urgent whisper from Potter. "Look at this."

_Look at _what_? I can't even see where you are._

Draco narrowed his eyes. If he squinted, he could just see a shape outlined by bouncing raindrops. At Potter's feet was a heap of rapidly disintegrating paper; he recognised the Daily Prophet's typesetting as he walked over, deliberately casual.

He looked down at the abandoned newspaper, and was immediately diverted by the picture on the top sheet. The Potter in the photo ranted and postured even as the ink ran, turning him into a smudged, distorted monster. The text beside the picture was an unreadable mess, but he could just about make out the headline.

_**ON THE RUN?**_

_**Confirmed Sighting of the Ministry's No 1 Most Wanted!**_

There _were_ a few words still decipherable in the article. Draco snorted as he got the gist of it. "Canada?" he whispered, not bothering to hide his amusement. "Nice trick, Potter - managing to be in two places at once. Thousands of miles apart, too - how do you do it?"

"They're telling everyone that I've run away…that I'm a _coward._"

Draco might not be able to see Potter's face, but he heard the anger - and distress? - in his voice and sensed trouble.

"Grow up, Potter. It's only propaganda. You'll get your chance to prove them wrong." _Just not today. Please, not today._ "And, while you're getting all worked up over a stupid newspaper article, I'm running out of time to remake that tincture of moonstone." Potter didn't say anything; Draco really wished he could see his face. "Remember? The reason we're here?"

_Oh, fuck this. _

"Someone called you a coward. Big deal. Get over it." Draco spun around and started marching towards the shop. _So his devoted fans might doubt him - so what? No one who actually _knows _him could believe such rubbish - and we're the ones who count. Idiot._

He shoved the shop door open with more violence than necessary.

Inside Ealdwine Gosse's shop, the air was warm and dry and the musky scent of dried herbs almost masked the other, more unpleasant smells that were a feature of any apothecary's. The proprietor looked up as the bell jangled, and gave his new customer a wide smile full of sharp, filed-to-a-point teeth.

"Be with you in a minute." Gosse turned his back on Draco. "Just let me - yes." When he turned back he was dropping a bloody fingernail into a little paper bag. "Just completing an order. Now, what can I get you? And would it be sir or madam?"

Draco ignored him, fixated on the other person in the shop. The man by the counter hadn't even flinched as Gosse had pulled off his fingernail, and now stood there, silent and still, making no attempt to staunch the blood dripping to the floor. Draco looked at his ragged robes, the chunks cut from his long, matted hair, his blank, empty eyes, and felt suddenly cold.

"Nice, huh?" Gosse said, completely misinterpreting Draco's silence. "As you can see, this is the place for human-sourced potions ingredients. I can do you a really good deal on hair, sweat, nails, skin etc. Eyes and internal organs come more expensive, but hey, straight from a living source, right?"

Draco tore his gaze away from the silent man, and held down the vomit that threatened to surge up into his throat. The door opened behind him, the bell tinkling inharmoniously as a gust of wind carried rain into the shop. _God, I hope that's Potter._ "I just need half an ounce of powdered moonstone," he managed.

Gosse shrugged and waved his wand. The door slammed shut. "Your loss," he said mildly. "You won't get fresher anywhere else." He went behind the counter, to the rows of cupboards with their tiny little shelves. Draco took a moment to look at the man whose internal organs he'd just been offered - at a suitably expensive price, of course. 'It' was alive, clearly no Inferius, so that meant…

Despite his revulsion, Draco found himself fascinated. He'd never met a Kissed person before. How did it work, he wondered - the soul was so important; how could a body continue to function and grow without a person inside it? Like a flesh machine… He shuddered.

Gosse scraped the powdered moonstone off the scales, into another of the little paper bags. "Fourteen sickles." He shrugged as if expecting a protest. "Times are hard."

Draco didn't even flinch. He just wanted to get out of there. Besides, wasn't anything paid for in silver rather than in gold cheap tat anyway? _I'm risking my life for something worth less than a galleon - things _are _bad._

He shoved the coins across the counter and snatched the bag from Gosse's hand. Gosse smiled at him and twitched his wand.

Draco saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He flung himself away, reaching for his wand… and the Kissed man caught him in a crushing embrace, its big hands closing around Draco's wrists.

"Better than an Inferius, eh?" Gosse chuckled. "I do apologise for this, but I have the sneaking suspicion I recognise your voice. If I let a proscribed wizard go, I would never forgive myself." He leaned forward, still smiling. Draco watched Gosse's wand move, and felt his hood slide back and the bandages start to unravel. "There are some very tasty bounties. Ah, bingo! You know, I was worried you were hiding something nasty under there, but I had nothing to be concerned about, did I, little Malfoy?"

"My father is one of the Dark Lord's most loyal servants," Draco said, as haughtily as he could manage. Gosse might be feeding the Kissed man, but he obviously wasn't brushing its teeth for it; its breath stank. He wrinkled his nose and glared at Gosse. "You've made a mistake."

"I don't think so. Your daddy must have done something very naughty to get both his wife and child on the Proscription Lists."

_He's lying. _Oh, it wasn't such a stretch to imagine the Dark Lord wanting Lucius dead, but surely as far as he was concerned Draco was loyal and spying for him, and Narcissa… _Mother's under the protection of both Bellatrix and Snape… _

Gosse set down his wand and chose a knife from the set on the counter. "The Lists are up in Diagon Alley. I'll let you look for yourself when I hand you over - how does that sound? I wouldn't want anyone to think I'd hand an innocent kid over to the Dementors. Now, hold still for me -"

_Dementors…_

_I'm not going to panic…I'm not going to panic…_

But he was being held fast, unable to move, and that sensation of helplessness dragged up dark memories…slimy stone beneath him, foul breath in his face…

Gosse caught hold of his hair. Draco found his head forced down, and felt the blade touch the back of his neck. "This is pretty stuff. I might even be able to pass it off as unicorn hair to my, um, less discerning customers." His voice seemed to be coming from a great distance away. Electric pain shot through Draco's body -

He heard the crack as Gosse's nose broke, felt his head suddenly free to move as the other man jerked back, but he couldn't enjoy the show as his captor was knocked around by an invisible attacker. He was still trapped and helpless, and hot pain pooled in his joints and gums -

"Are you a prize-fighter or a _wizard_, Potter?" he snarled, and it _was _a real snarl, a barely human sound. A flash of red light answered his question. Gosse slumped to the floor.

Draco felt the first shift of his bones.

_I can stop this… I know I can stop this…_

He tasted coppery blood in his mouth, felt the looseness of his teeth as he opened his mouth to scream…

* * *

_Oh, fuck…Again..?_

Harry found himself frozen to the spot. His wand was aimed at the big man, and he'd planned to Stun him next to release Draco, but he couldn't get the word out.

Draco was writhing against his captor's grip. Harry saw the bones moving in his splayed fingers, clearly visible beneath his fine skin. Tears formed in his eyes as he swore in an oddly rough, grating voice and spat blood and something that looked horribly like a tooth onto the floor at Harry's feet.

"_Run away…_"

"No!" Harry forced himself into movement. Some part of him _did _want to run away, but it was the part of himself he never paid much attention to. He wasn't an ape faced with a predator, he was a human being watching someone he cared for suffer. He dragged off the cloak and lunged forward to catch hold of Draco's face. "You've beaten this before." He felt the skin move beneath his fingers, the bones changing shape beneath it, and it took all his willpower not to snatch his hands back. "_Fight it!_"

"…_can't_…"

Draco threw his head back and screamed; the man holding him didn't even flinch. _Why isn't he letting Draco go? Is he brave or just completely stupid? _Harry looked up into brown eyes blank of emotion or intelligence, and realised - a second before Draco tore himself free.

_Literally _tore himself free.

Harry found himself falling, Draco on top of him. He wanted to shut his eyes, to block out the arms still stretched towards them, the hands that were now so much splintered bone sticking out of split flesh, and the eyes that didn't even register the damage. But Draco was still shuddering and whimpering, his twitching body a mass of moving, changing bones and muscle, and whatever Harry felt for him, he knew how much danger he was in.

_That could be me next._

The remnants of Harry's sense of self-preservation told him to push Draco off him, to get some distance, to get his wand… Instead, he wrapped his arms around Draco, holding him so tightly his arms hurt, and whispered, "Do you _want _to kill me?" He could feel the throb of the other boy's heart through his chest, racing in time with his own, and he _knew _Draco wasn't going to hurt him…not this time, at least. "_Fight it._"

"_Bas-tard…_" Draco's body tensed up in a way that reminded Harry of how he felt in his arms when he was about to come. He firmly shoved that image away; that was a connection he didn't want his mind to make.

He _felt _Draco's bones snap back into their correct places, and his first flicker of revulsion didn't stand a chance against the accompanying flood of relief. Draco went limp, his breathing ragged and hot against Harry's ear. Harry loosened his embrace and stroked his hands over the lines of Draco's back, now reassuringly familiar and _normal_. His heart clenched tight with emotion. "I knew you could do it."

Draco didn't say anything. He slowly levered himself up onto his knees, and roughly scrubbed the blood from his mouth with his sleeve.

He wouldn't meet Harry's eyes.

"Six-four to me," Harry said calmly. "It'd be six-five, but I don't think you're allowed points when the person you're saving me from is yourself. That's cheating."

Draco blinked. For a long, horrible moment he stared at Harry in total shock - then his mouth twitched. "Next time I'll rip your throat out," he said, his voice shaking but his mouth stretching into a grin. "That'll mess up your points." He shook his head. "I can't believe you're actually keeping score. That's pathetic."

Harry shrugged and reached out for the packet of powdered moonstone. Draco snatched it out of his hand. "And it's four-four, anyway. Two of yours don't count."

_So, keeping score is pathetic, is it?_

Harry couldn't help himself - he laughed.

The bell jangled.

He looked up to see the door half-open, and a hooded figure looking into the shop. The new customer took in the scene inside, stared at Harry for a moment, then fled.

Harry snatched up his wand. He got to the door just before it swung shut, but when he looked out into the street he saw nothing but the pounding rain and the shapes whipped from it by the wind. No fleeing figure - but no Death Eaters hurrying to capture him either.

_Give it time._

"We need to go. _Now._"

A ball of bunched-up fabric hit Harry on the back of the head, catching on his shoulder as it unfurled. He caught it before it could slip to the floor, and glared at Draco. That was no way to treat his father's Invisibility Cloak.

"_Move_."

"I _am_." Harry looked at the Kissed man. When Harry caught hold of his arm and tugged, he followed him obediently.

"What the hell are you _doing_?"

"Livia might be able to fix him up."

"Him? It's an _it_! And Gosse's property."

"He's a human being." Soul or not, that was a human body bleeding in front of him. He couldn't just not care.

"Your definition of human is too wide," Draco said, and his voice held something that made Harry snap his head around to look at him - something sharp and cold and…_sad_? "Do you count Inferi as human? Or vampires?"

_Or werewolves? _That was the real question, wasn't it?

_As if he really needs to ask me that._

Harry knew monsters. If his definition of human was too wide, then so was his definition of 'monster', because the worst monsters he had ever faced were undeniably human. Even Voldemort was only human, whatever he might like to believe. What made a monster was in the head, not the body.

He was suddenly frustrated. Draco looked at him with cold, shielded eyes, and perhaps the past few days had all been some mad, lust-fuelled hallucination, if Draco didn't get it yet.

They needed to get moving. They _really _didn't have time for this. But as Harry stepped forward, he couldn't help noticing the way Draco moved to meet him, the desperate clutch of his fingers in Harry's hair making a lie of the coldness in his eyes, the fierceness of his kiss telling Harry everything else he needed to know.

He'd never been wanted - _needed_ - so completely. And what made those 'wasted' seconds so worth it wasn't the hot desire flaring in his stomach, or the fire flickering along his nerves, but the sharp spike of emotion in his chest.

Harry pulled back, remembering how to breathe, trying to make some sense of his scattered thoughts. "I- I-" His throat closed around the words -

The shop window exploded. The air was suddenly filled with the heady scent of herbs as shards of glass ripped through the window display and thudded into the board behind it. The wind and rain gusting through the broken window carried with them a _Sonorus_-enhanced voice.

"ATTENTION CRIMINALS! YOU HAVE ONE MINUTE TO PUT DOWN YOUR WANDS AND COME OUT QUIETLY."

"Oh, for fuck's sake…" Draco retrieved his wand from the floor and glared at Harry. "Happy now?"

* * *

_He is. He fucking is. _

Potter shrugged and grinned. "How is this my fault?"

Draco hurt all over. He still felt nauseous and shaky, and even the knowledge - certain, now - that he could stop himself, that he had at least some control over the poison in his body, didn't change what had so nearly happened.

_I wanted to rip the world apart._

And he'd just been all over Potter like a rash, so needy and pathetic that just thinking about it made him cringe.

_So, forgive me if I don't share your enthusiasm for a fight, Potter._

There was a lot of valuable stock in the shop; Gosse would certainly have Anti-Apparition wards set up. But surely fighting their way out wasn't the only option…

"They might not have had time to disconnect the Floo network." Draco caught hold of Potter's arm. Something small and sparkling sailed through the broken window and smashed on the floor; the air was suddenly full of a sickly sweet smell. "Come _on_."

His vision blurred, and it felt as if he was trying to breath through cotton wool. His throat hurt, his lungs hurt - and Potter wasn't cooperating. Draco watched in horror as his eyes went wide and unfocused and his hands went up to clutch at his head. He looked for all the world like a Seer receiving a particularly unpleasant vision - which was ridiculous. Even _Weasley_ was more likely to be a Seer than Potter.

_So much for my bodyguard, then._

He gave Potter's arm a yank; Potter staggered after him. The Kissed man stared blankly after them but made no attempt to follow - which was fine by Draco. Unlike Potter, he had a much narrower definition of human.

It was just a shame that his definition somehow excluded himself.

* * *

Harry was vaguely aware that he couldn't breathe. He could smell something sweet, so sweet that by rights it should be leaving sugar caked to his nostrils, and his limbs were heavy and clumsy. But all that was a distant impression, an annoyance on the edge of his consciousness.

He was angry - furious - but filled with something almost like anticipation. He could feel power crackling through the stone slabs beneath his feet. As he touched the wall beside him it moved beneath his fingers, like an animal flinching from a cruel master. And he _would_ be its master. All that power would be his.

The current master was on his knees, clutching the splintered remnants of his wand in bloodied fingers. The castle was offering him its power, and it seemed as if he didn't even know how to use it - or that he didn't want to.

"Pathetic."

The voice came from Harry's mouth, but it wasn't his. He knew what was happening, what he was seeing and experiencing, but he couldn't fight it. He wasn't dreaming, so he couldn't be woken up. He wanted to scream, but this wasn't his body, wasn't his mind…

"I knew you'd come for her. To walk open-eyed into such an obvious trap - was it hubris or foolishness, Lucius?"

The man on the floor shook his head. He looked up, strands of hair sticking to a face almost scorched and blistered beyond recognition, and Harry watched him try to force his mouth into a sneer, clear liquid trickling down across his chin as the blackened skin cracked and split. "You…truly…have no understanding…my lord…"

Harry felt the decision made, felt the sheer physical rush of the power leaving his body. Unlike Cruciatus, there was no emotion needed to cast the Killing Curse, just the cold resolve to snuff out a life. And he had to break the connection - he didn't want to feel this, or watch it. He had to -

His knees slammed into something hard, followed by his face, and he really couldn't breathe. Someone was pulling at his arm, and for a second he was looking up into Draco's face. His vision flickered back and forth, between the unfocused grey eyes of his friend and the limp body of that friend's father. He felt Voldemort's rage as the slabs beneath Lucius opened up, and a short vicious stab of satisfaction that was all his own as the body dropped out of sight.

_Things not going your way, bastard?_

* * *

"Fuck's sake, Potter! Move! You're heavy and I'm not exactly doing so well myself here!"

Potter just coughed and wheezed, his face pressed against the floor. The moment Draco gave up trying to drag him, his own legs seemed to give out on him. His head banged against the apothecary's cabinets - and that smell was _everywhere_.

_Sneaky bastards - what the hell was _in _that flask? _

Draco tried to move his legs. The little cardboard signs on the drawers seemed to bounce in front of his eyes, Gosse's spiky writing squirming as if he'd stuck live spiders to the card. He narrowed his eyes, forcing the card closest to him to come into focus.

_**Powdered Hellebore.**_

The pounding pain in his head made it hard to think, but something clicked deep within his brain.

It would be unpleasant, but he couldn't just sit there and wait to be picked up. Potter's head lolled against his knee, hair prickly against Draco's loosely-hanging hand. _Even if I somehow manage to talk myself out of this, I won't be able to help him._

Draco forced his clumsy fingers to move, hooking them awkwardly into the half-moon shaped slot above the label. One quick tug and the whole drawer fell out of the cabinet. Grey powder exploded up into the air as it hit the floor. He crawled along the aisle, feeling his way along the rows of drawers.

All his skill in Potions-making and he was reduced to something as simple and hazardous as this. Snape would be distinctly unimpressed.

He heard booted feet crunching over broken glass as he splashed salamander blood onto the mess on the floor.

If the potion that was making both him and Potter so useless had been inhaled, then the means to purge their bodies of it would have to be inhaled too…but it really wasn't going to be pleasant…

A awkward swipe of his wand set the sticky mess on fire. In Draco's head, he could almost hear his teacher's acidic comments. _Clumsy. Risky. Idiotic._ _What are you - a trained wizard or a child let loose in his father's workshop?_

The fumes burnt his eyes and stung his throat, his lungs hurt and his blood felt like it was on fire, but he could taste the sweetness of the 'enemy' potion in his mouth as he breathed out. On the floor beside him, Potter was choking and apparently trying to hack his lungs up, pink smoke forced out of his mouth with each cough. Draco could feel his head clearing, control trickling back through his limbs with each painful breath he took.

He heard a shout from the front of the shop. The hatch on the counter slammed open. A hooded figure appeared at the end of the aisle…and a croaked "_Stupefy_!" from next to him lit up the smoke with red light and sent their would-be captor crashing to the floor.

Potter sat back on his heels and looked at Draco through streaming eyes, his mouth twisting into a grin almost as crooked as his glasses. "Seven-five," he rasped, and Draco felt a sudden mad urge to hug him.

_Oh, well - I should have known there'd be side effects._

"Not yet." Their enemies' advantage was lost, but so was their own now. It would be clear to their attackers that they were no longer incapacitated, so they wouldn't give them another easy shot.

He found himself smiling. That would only be bad if he and Potter actually _wanted_ to fight. Let the enemy hide, unable to get line-of-sight for their spells without opening themselves to retaliation. _We'll just slip away. _"Tally up when we get away."

Potter's grin faltered. For a moment he looked at Draco with an expression that could almost be pity - then he blinked. "Where is he?" he said - and Draco knew that tone well.

"They killed it," he lied smoothly. "It was probably the kindest thing." Potter glared at him - and since when had it been so hard to lie to Potter? "Though it did have a better life than I do right now. At least Gosse fed it properly."

"How did you get to be such a heartless bastard?"

"It's genetic."

It wasn't such a good comeback, but it made Potter flinch. Draco saw a flash of that pity again before he looked away, his eyes narrowing. Behind the dangling amulets and whole snake skins that hung from its frame like a ragged curtain, the door to the shop's back room hung invitingly open. "We'll lose our cover when we get to the door," he said.

Draco watched the pink smoke puffing from Potter's mouth as he spoke. For all his goofy grin, talk of 'scores', and bleeding heart for anything even vaguely human-looking, Potter had just managed to mirror Draco's line of thought so perfectly that it was almost alarming. _I just keep on underestimating him, don't I?_

"I'll block, you retaliate."

"Yes, _boss_."

Why was that so funny? Draco was the Legilimens - of course he should handle defence. And Potter…Potter's raw power defined offensive - in more ways than one -

Potter's hand caught hold of the back of his neck, dragging him forward into a hard, fierce kiss. "I-" Potter swallowed hard, and his cheeks coloured. "I like having you to watch my back," he continued awkwardly, and then finished with a rush, "but you're still a complete bastard."

His lips tingling, Draco breathed out one last curl of smoke and met Potter's gaze through it. Potter could make a simple statement of fact sound like a dark confession, and the expression in his eyes was suddenly vulnerable.

_What he calls 'watching his back', I call saving both our necks. _

"Now, I explained about that. My mother is definitely married to my father -" Potter's gaze flicked away at that. _And yes, I know you don't like my father, but I am still his son._ Draco reached out for Potter's hand and let him pull him up into a half-crouch, their fingers locking together. Potter beamed at him like a kid who'd been given the most perfect birthday present, and the sudden pounding of Draco's heart couldn't be blamed entirely on fear. "Don't do anything stupid," he snapped.

Then they were running - and just in time, because his words were drowned out by the screech of disintegrating wood, cabinets and contents alike torn apart by a Reductor Curse.

_So much for our fucking cover._

"Cheating _fuckers_!"

_Gosse will _kill _them when he comes around._

But Potter was laughing as he banished the cloud of splinters back towards their pursuers, and either his amusement was infectious, or Draco was getting hysterical, because he found himself joining in. Instinct and practice moved his wand hand, the right blocking spells spoken in his mind without conscious effort, and he was still laughing as they plunged through the curtain of skins into the back room, still clutching each other's hands like idiots.

Draco Transfigured the skins into a heavy metal plate that filled the doorway, and glared at the pattern of scales it had retained while he caught his breath. Still, as long as it held long enough, did it matter if it still looked a little snaky? McGonagall wasn't there to deduct points for aesthetics.

"_Incendio_." A roaring fire sprung up in the fireplace in response to Potter's spell. The metal plate bulged inward and cracked - and Draco let himself wonder just what the hell they were going to do if the Floo Network _had_ been disconnected.

It was too late to worry. Potter tossed more Floo powder than was strictly necessary into the fire; it hissed and spat but it did turn green, which was encouraging.

"6c Calchas Square," Draco said as the metal plate shattered and Potter dragged him into the flames.

_Mother might not have been phased by Granger, but I wonder what she'll make of _this _visitor…_

* * *


	26. Chapter 17

A/N - Sorry if I've missed replying to any reviews - I'm going to go back through them in the next couple of days and check. Thanks for all the support, guys! :) Hope you enjoy this chapter. Sorry it's taken so long to come. X

* * *

-17.

The moment Harry stumbled out of the Floo, he knew something was wrong. Even as his brain was telling him to block up the fireplace to prevent pursuit, and his body was going through the motions of doing just that, his eyes were taking in the expensive furniture tossed about like so much rubbish and the spell burns on the carpet beneath his knees. He looked at Draco, and felt a horrible sense of déjà vu as he saw his expression.

This was like the Manor all over again. No, he corrected himself as Draco surged to his feet, his eyes wide and wild with some emotion Harry couldn't identify - it was worse than that.

"Mother?" The word was almost a whisper.

_Oh, shit…_

"_I knew you'd come for her."_

Harry felt suddenly cold.

Draco rushed out into the hall, pausing only to get a firmer grip on his wand. Harry got to his feet. He saw the packet of powdered moonstone lying on the rug, dropped by Draco in his hurry, and picked it up. It would be ridiculous to go through all that they had to get it, only to lose it now.

One of the room's sash windows was wide open, letting wind and rain into the flat. He went over to close it, looking down into a little square that would have been pretty if it hadn't been so completely deserted. One of the townhouses opposite had its great front door thrown open. It was too far away to read, but a large sheet of parchment was pasted onto the brickwork, and furniture and personal belongings were piled haphazardly on the pavement.

The flat was silent except for the rain pattering against the windows and Draco's hurried footsteps and the occasional slam of a door as he searched. Harry felt as if an invisible vice was closing around his chest.

_I have to tell him. I can't keep something like this from him._

As he turned away from the window, something flashed bright yellow at the blurred periphery of his vision. His breath caught in his throat as he looked back and saw a child's robe caught on the park railings, fluttering in the wind like a gaudy flag.

Proscriptions. Harry had never heard the term before, but he didn't need a dictionary in front of him to take a good guess at what it meant.

Anger and frustration swelled up inside him. He heard a choked sob, and for a moment thought it had come from his own throat. Then he realised that the noise from Draco's search of the flat had stopped.

A few quick strides took him out into the hall. The front door of the flat hung off its hinges, panels smashed through and its lock and handle melted and twisted. Draco stood out on the landing, looking at something beyond Harry's field of vision. He gripped his wand tighter and went to join him, ducking under the broken door.

Discreetly-patterned wallpaper was almost covered by crudely pasted up parchment - what looked like entire rolls of the stuff, covered in names.

Harry's own name was on there - but that was hardly a surprise. He was flicking his eyes up to look at the 'M's when he saw something that was. "Patrick Parkinson?"

"Pansy's eldest brother," Draco said, his voice quiet and flat. "Independently wealthy, can trace his bloodline back ten generations, has no interest whatsoever in politics - I wonder which part of that makes him an 'undesirable'?"

Harry didn't say anything. He didn't know the man, but he suspected that 'no interest in politics' had become an impossible stance for anyone, even a rich Pure-blood, to keep up.

"Mother will be really upset at the state of the apartment," Draco said. "Father will have to have the looters found and punished." His fingers trembled as they brushed over the parchment. Harry looked at the names he was touching.

_**Malfoy, Draco; Malfoy, Lucius; Malfoy, Narcissa (nee Black).**_

To Harry, Lucius Malfoy had always been the human face of the enemy, representing everything about the Wizarding world that Harry had learned to detest. The man was cruel and ruthless, an arrogant bigot - and it appeared that he'd died trying to fight Voldemort. Narcissa had always seemed just an extension of her husband, an appropriately cold and haughty companion for such a man. But Andromeda had implied that her sister was no fan of the Death Eaters, and now it seemed that she was a victim of them. As for Draco…Harry almost winced at how many of his assumptions about Draco had been so, so wrong.

He watched Draco's fingers run over the parchment, again and again, as if to rub out the names. His head was bowed and his hair fell down over his face until the only part visible was his pointed chin and a mouth set in a hard, thin line. Harry remembered the sob he'd heard and wasn't fooled for an instant.

He felt sick. How the hell was he supposed to tell Draco that his father was dead and that his mother was at best imprisoned, at worst dead too?

_This isn't fair._ And that thought could almost have been amusing - Harry himself was a living example of how the world really _wasn't _fair, but he could still rage against it on Draco's behalf.

_I want to see him happy, not in more pain…_

Draco's back stiffened as Harry touched his shoulder.

"Draco, I-"

"Save the sympathy for someone who actually needs it, Potter."

"_Riight…_" Harry snapped his teeth together and tried to count to ten before replying. He got to four. "God forbid I should actually care about you!"

The answer was snapped back, almost word-for-word what Harry was expecting. "Why do you? I don't care about you!" Even half-expected, it still stung like crazy, but -

"_Bullshit_."

Draco spun around, a twisted mix of shock and anger on his face. Harry reacted without thinking - he lunged forward, one hand catching hold of Draco's wand hand, the other slamming firmly across his mouth, and shoved him back up against the wall. Draco naturally fought back; it might actually have been a turn-on if Harry hadn't been so angry. "STOP TRYING TO PUSH ME AWAY!" Draco's fingers dug painfully into his wrist, trying to yank his hand free; Harry used his slightly greater weight to flatten him against the wall. "I know if I let you talk, you'll rip me to pieces and leave me feeling like shit. Just to prove me wrong." The sounds Draco was making into his hand were definitely swearwords. "And I still fucking love you, so what kind of an idiot does that…make… me?" The words stuttered to a halt.

_Oh, _shit_…_

Draco froze. The expression in his eyes was pure horror…which was not very flattering.

_I can't believe I said that…_

_Is it even true?_

He felt the bones of his hand grind together painfully as Draco finally pulled it away from his mouth.

"Now who's talking bullshit?"

* * *

Draco tried to push back the pure panic pounding through his body. He tried to tell himself that the stupid little part of him that had leapt at the word actually had the right idea; it would be a huge advantage to him…if it was true.

Which of course it couldn't be.

"You're enjoying getting laid," he said slowly, loading every bit of contempt he possessed into the words. "That's sweet - but don't push it."

Potter looked completely miserable. And so he should - Draco shouldn't have to deal with his romantic crap, he had other things to worry about…

Potter's gaze flicked away, but not before Draco saw a flash of guilt and pity within those big green eyes. The sudden suspicion he felt was ridiculous - how could Potter know anything about what had happened here?

_But he didn't seem that surprised at the state of the flat…_

"Are you hiding something from me?" He heard his own voice, soft and dangerous. Potter met his gaze full on, not even bothering to hide his pity now…

"Draco, I'm sorry."

_Legilimens._

Potter didn't even try to fight him; he offered up the memory almost willingly. Draco saw his father on his knees before the Dark Lord, watched him die, watched the castle reclaim his body…

_No._

_It's a lie. It isn't true._

He heard Potter's voice, muffled as if it was coming through layers and layers of thick, stifling cloth. "When Voldemort tried to kill me, he made a connection between us."

_He's lying…_

"Sometimes I get flashes of what he's thinking or feeling, or have moments when I can see through his eyes."

_Potter doesn't lie._

He couldn't breathe. His eyes burned with unshed tears.

_You can't fake memories._

His stomach flipped, and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick. Then he felt power surge out of his body, thick in the air around him like a dirty mix of grease and static electricity. Fire licked against his hair, his robes -

* * *

Harry dragged Draco away from the wall of parchment. The Proscription Lists blackened and cracked, names glowing brightly then disappearing into the flames streaming across the wall. The heat stung his face and brought tears to his eyes, and he burned himself as he smothered the fire caught in Draco's hair and robes with his bare hands, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his chest.

_I should have found a better way to tell him._

Draco shoved him away; the crack as the blond boy Disapparated was almost deafening.

Harry retrieved his wand and extinguished the fire before it could spread any further. The townhouse seemed to be deserted, but he wasn't prepared to risk it. His throat already hurt from Draco's ad-hoc antidote, and the smoke made it burn even more painfully. He tasted blood in his mouth as he coughed.

He'd _never _seen Draco lose it like that before. He'd seen him upset, scared, worried, hopping mad, but never out of control.

A horrible thought suddenly occurred to him. What if Draco had Apparated away, not to get some privacy for his pain, as Harry had been assuming, but to confront the person who'd caused it?

* * *

_Not Father. _It wasn't possible. _He wouldn't leave us._

A storm-enhanced wave roared up the beach towards him. Draco narrowed his eyes across the pounding rain and poured all his panic and rage into a banishing spell. He couldn't fight the ocean - like the war that was devouring everything he cared about, he was tiny and weak before it - but he watched the wave split, crash back into itself, discharging its power in a surging white rush that still managed to push up the beach, catching his feet and the hem of his robes.

He ran for the caves, sand shifting under his feet, soaked robes slapping against his skin, face almost numb from the driving rain. The water catching in his eyelashes was from the rain, the salt he could taste on his lips was just seawater carried on the wind. He _wasn't _crying.

A second wave caught up to him as he clambered up over the rocks, catching him and throwing him into the caves. Draco managed to hold on to his wand, even as his back and shoulder slammed into solid stone, and seawater surged up his nose, sharp and painful in his throat.

His fingernails clicked against rock as the water retreated, dragging him back.

If it did drag him back, he'd be helpless, tossed like a rag between the unstoppable force of the sea and the immovable - and hard and sharp - object of the cliffs.

Pain flared in his fingers, then they twitched and as the water tugged relentlessly at him, he shoved nails that were now sharp and hard deep into the solid rock.

There was blood in the water as it rushed back to the ocean. Draco scrambled over the rocks, ignoring both the split and mangled flesh of his fingers and the sharp stinging heat as they healed. He could just about see in the caves without a spell, and he wasn't going think about _that_ either.

There was just too much to take in, too much to feel. But for now he could just concentrate on survival - and that was almost a relief.

* * *

"Where is he?"

Harry heard the words he wanted to shout at everyone directed at him, and felt a sudden surge of anger. "I don't know," he snapped. "I wish I did!"

Lupin glared back at him. For a moment he looked as if he was going to reply just as sharply, then he snapped his teeth together with an angry click. The expression in his eyes softened slightly as he looked at Harry.

Harry hadn't really expected Draco to come back to the hotel, but he'd allowed himself a tiny glimmer of hope. If he wasn't at the hotel, then Harry wouldn't be able to find him or help him - and he wouldn't accept that.

"He'd better be back before sunset." Lupin sighed. "What happened?"

Harry could almost hear the unspoken question. _So, what did you do this time? _And just the words Knocturn Alley would probably earn him a - well-deserved - lecture.

"Harry, you do understand that this place isn't under Fidelius? If there's even the slightest risk that Draco might get captured -"

"He won't." The words didn't come out with as much conviction as Harry would have liked. He did know that the hotel wasn't a permanent base - like everyone else, he'd been given coordinates to Apparate to in the event of an attack, and he knew Moody had been hard at work locating and setting up more secure hideouts - but he'd never given much thought to just how vulnerable they were there.

He was just steeling himself for another session of explaining himself - and the feeling of somehow letting Lupin down that always seemed to come with it - when Fred and George wandered past.

"There's not enough magic bound into it to do real spells."

"Yeah, but 'cos it's not a physical thing, it can't be damaged by other people's spells either."

Harry noticed the box beneath Fred's arm.

"Hey! That's Ron's present!"

The two boys stopped and looked back at him. Fred shrugged and tossed the box over to Harry. "We haven't damaged it. We were just experimenting with it."

"We're done now anyway."

Harry looked down at the box. He had no reason to be irritated. He hadn't even opened the Action Duellist's box, much less had a go fighting it. At least Fred and George were making use of it. He saw the remains of the price tag and flinched.

"It's clever idea."

"Wish we'd thought of it," Fred said with feeling.

George nodded vigorously.

"Anyway - it's all yours now. Have fun."

The crack of someone Apparating in made Harry look up hopefully - only to have that hope dashed as he saw Moody marching purposefully up to Lupin.

_Where the hell _are _you, Draco?_

* * *

Shadows danced along the carved walls of the Lower Hall as the torches burst into life. The hem of Draco's robes left a trail of water behind him as he walked over to the dais and the statues gathered around it. He wasn't scared anymore - fear seemed to have been one of the many emotions battered out of him on the beach. The clammy cold of his wet robes seeped in through his pores, and he felt completely numb.

The massed ranks of his ancestors parted for him - and Draco saw what was waiting for him on the dais.

He'd known all along that Potter had been telling the truth. That what Draco had seen through the other boy's eyes had been nothing but the truth. He'd just hoped…

It was suddenly difficult to breathe. He could feel the need to cry burning at the back of his eyes.

Numb? He should be so lucky.

Anger burned inside him, causing his guts to churn in a way that brought acid bile up into his throat. The Dark Lo - no, fuck that, he wouldn't dignify that thing with a title. "_Voldemort_." He was going to die. Draco wasn't as powerful as his father, or as experienced, but he had knowledge that he could use, _people _that he could use. He _would _make it happen.

He sucked in a deep breath, then another.

Lucius had always found tears repugnant, a sign of weakness. So Draco didn't cry as he rearranged cold limbs into a more dignified position, brushed hair matted with blood away from a face so burnt it was almost unrecognisable, and knelt to pay his respects.

The St Christopher tingled against his skin, demanding attention. He pulled it free of his robes, suddenly hating Snape. _Why can't he just fucking leave me _alone_?_

_**N. is safe.**_

Draco let loose a breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding, and pressed his face against the cool smooth stone of the dais. His throat closed up, one painful shudder after another shook his body, and his eyes stung as the tears finally came.

* * *

Harry hugged the box to him as he walked down the hall. He'd given the powdered moonstone to Hermione. It was possible she might be able to finish the potion in time, following Draco's written instructions; he knew she'd give it her best shot.

He frowned as he thought of something she'd said.

"I looked up Wolfsbane Potion a couple of months ago - I thought I'd be able to make it for Lupin - and it's way beyond my skill level. How can _Malfoy_ understand such a complex potion well enough to make changes to the process and the ingredients? And it's not just an intellectual exercise, either, since he's going to be the one taking it."

It was odd. Hermione didn't like to admit that anything was beyond her, so if she said she couldn't do it, Harry believed her. And, until last year, Harry would have grudgingly judged Draco at about the same level as Hermione when it came to Potions (as well as being a complete teacher's pet).

Still, it was pointless thinking about it. Right at that moment, Harry would just be glad to get a chance to ask Draco about it. And he wouldn't care what answer he got, either, as long as Draco was safe and unharmed and with Harry…where he belonged…

"_You're enjoying getting laid. That's sweet - but don't push it."_

Harry clutched the box a bit tighter. He was wound so tightly that he felt like he'd been force fed a vat of Hestia's herbal tea. He couldn't get Draco out his head for more than ten seconds at a time. _But of course that's just down to me 'enjoying getting laid'…of course it is, Draco. Idiot._

In what had once been the tea room, heavy velvet curtains had been conjured up over the windows to partially block out the sound of the storm outside. Ginny sat on the floor with a little group of children around her; she didn't look happy - especially when a sudden roll of thunder sent the children diving on top of her.

"Look - I was told to read you a story, not nurse all of you. Get off. Thunder can't hurt you."

There was some giggling as the kids settled back down. Harry was just trying to slip past without disturbing them again when he heard Ginny call after him. "When you see Ron, tell him he owes me one!"

The thought of Ron trying to deal with those children - in fact, _any _children - was a welcome, if temporary, diversion for his thoughts. He popped his head back around the door. "Come on, you know this is your favourite job."

Ginny pulled a face. "My _mum_'s favourite job." But she smiled at the kids anyway as she opened the book she held. Colours puffed up from the yellowing pages like chalk dust blown from a blackboard. "Now, this isn't a fairy story, but it begins, like a _lot _of fairy stories, with a brave warrior on a quest and a fair damsel trapped in a tower." The colours formed themselves into a scene of rolling hills and forest, a drawing in pastels made three-dimensional and almost real by the spells woven into the book. A tall white tower rose beyond the trees, and a cloaked man on horseback made his way towards it. "But this damsel was a young witch, who had _chosen_ to lock herself and her children away from the evils of the world."

Most of the children sat wide-eyed and transfixed, but one girl giggled and reached out into the coloured dust, trying to catch hold of the tiny horseman. A muscle beneath Ginny's eye twitched, but she didn't snap or slap the girl's hand away. "The wizard you're trying to squish, Olivia," she said smoothly, "is Godric Gryffindor, gathering teachers and students for the great school he and his fellows are building."

"Oooh." Olivia pulled her hand back. The chalk dust caked around her fingers detached itself and flowed smoothly back into the picture, which shifted and changed to show a small woman, barely more than a girl, her waist-length white-blond hair held back by a simple silver circlet. Olivia 'ooohed' again.

Harry turned away. Part of him wanted to stay, to plonk himself down amongst the children and imagine himself in a different world, where his mother had read bedtime stories to him, possibly with the aid of something like that book. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the fantasy, before a rumble of thunder and answering squeaks of fear from the children brought him back to his senses.

Ginny raised her voice. As Harry crossed the corridor to the makeshift practice room, he could still hear her over the storm, clear and confident, calming the children down with an effortlessness that he envied.

"It was a time of great fear and hatred - and that fear and hatred had found its way to Eve's door. When Gryffindor arrived, the tower was under siege. But she was in no need of a hero." Harry heard the satisfaction in her voice as the door clicked shut behind him and he grinned as she announced firmly, "This damsel could rescue _herself_." Yes, that sounded like a story Ginny would like.

His smile faded. Of course, the events of her first year at Hogwarts could have gone towards tarnishing that particular fairytale plot.

'_This damsel could rescue herself.' And these days she can._

The thought had no sadness attached. Ginny was tough. She didn't _need_ him like her younger self had. She was perfectly capable of getting on with her life without a 'hero', and Harry felt a relief at that that was partly - ok, largely - selfish. He'd never thought of himself as a hero anyway, whatever Draco seemed to think.

_Draco…_

He _had _to trust in Draco's sense of self-preservation. He _had _to believe that his friend had gone off somewhere to grieve and not done anything stupid. He _couldn't _think about Draco going alone to confront Voldemort -

His breath froze in his chest and he felt that cold numbness returning to his body.

_No._

If Draco had gone to avenge his father…

_No. He's not so stupid._

…then he'd be…

_NO._

_He's not dead._

But some part of his brain was unable to leave the thought alone. Harry had never seen Draco look like he had when he'd Disapparated from the flat. _Like his whole world had just disintegrated around him…_

_Why didn't I fucking _stop_ him? What if -_

A flash of lightning beyond the boarded-up windows painted the room with vivid slashes of light, and Harry felt the emotion boiling up inside him as if in response, along with power that seemed to push at his skin from the inside.

_He could be -_

The carpet blackened around his feet. The glass in the window shattered, the wood splintered and wind and rain surged into the room as the storm was finally allowed access.

"_No_." The word was hissed out past the tight pain that constricted his chest.

* * *

In theory it had sounded so good. As Hermione had put it, practicing his duelling skills would put some of that nervous energy to good use and occupy his mind with something more productive than worrying. She'd also said that he'd probably feel better after blasting something, which Harry didn't think was entirely fair.

It wasn't working. Oh, he had to agree with Fred and George that the Action Duellist was a clever invention, and it was good that he couldn't actually _hurt_ it, because he was getting more and more wound up inside and he really wanted to break something.

Sometimes he caught fragments of the story Ginny was telling the children, half-sentences and words dimly heard over the wind.

"…so in love…"

"…swore to make his every dream come true…"

Bright ink splattered over his shield spell. Too bright - it made this seem like a game, when it really, really wasn't. Harry needed to train, he needed to let out some of the power beating against his skin -

"…Gryffindor and Slytherin…"

- he needed something to stop the thoughts going round and round in his head.

"…the lines were drawn, sides were taken…"

The Action Duellist splattered apart as he hit it with _Expulso_, black droplets mixing with the rain for a moment then rushing back together, only a bright yellow spot on its robes to even show he'd even landed a hit.

_Like Wizarding Paintball…_

It wasn't enough. Harry needed a real fight, a real enemy.

"…love wasn't enough…"

What the hell was Ginny telling those children? Yes, she'd said it wasn't a fairy story, but still…

He ducked an attack, took a hasty step back to avoid another - and almost did the splits as his foot slipped on the wet carpet. He slashed out with his wand. "_Petrificus Totalus_." His artificial opponent just stepped out of its way - and retaliated in the same movement.

The Action Duellist had been created to look like a big man with a hard impassive face, but the way it moved was almost a merciless copy of Draco - every attack, block and dodge flowing together like a well-practiced dance.

"…to protect her family, she could never weaken that way again…"

He'd had enough of this.

Harry dodged, then dodged again, forcing himself to concentrate -

The next roll of thunder carried another sound within it…and the Action Duellist splashed apart again. But not from Harry's spell. His Expelliarmus hit a powerful Shield Charm.

"Granger said you were in here."

The Shield Charm dissolved. Harry felt a wide grin stretch slowly across his face. His heart felt as if it was trying to hammer its way out of his chest. But even as he enjoyed the relief, something like a warning flickered at the back of his mind. Draco was still in his fighting stance -

The red flash of the Stunner seared his eyes as he threw himself clear. Harry frantically blinked away the dots jumping around before his eyes and flung up a Shield Charm as another hex came his way. He was nearly knocked off his feet as the sheer force of it made his shield disintegrate.

_What the hell is he _doing_?_

"…the castle would fall into the sea, her bloodline would end - all for the love of a son of Gryff-"

Ginny's voice was abruptly cut off, and Harry heard the familiar squelch as the door was sealed shut.

The Action Duellist started to flow back together. Draco made an irritated noise and flicked his wand in its direction; the inky droplets hardened into ice -

He'd left himself wide open -

- but he deflected Harry's Disarming Spell with one impatient twist of his wand. And Harry didn't even have the chance to be angry or impressed, because all those chunks of black ice were suddenly hurtling in his direction.

An Impediment Jinx was enough to stop them - but not the _Expelliarmus_ that followed close behind.

As the spell lifted Harry off his feet and ripped the wand from his hand, sheer bloody-mindedness came to his rescue. He hadn't asked for this fight, but he sure as hell wasn't going to lose it. Instead of trying to stop his fall, he twisted his body and snatched his wand from mid-air - and hit the ground with enough force to drive all the breath from his body.

Even thoroughly winded, he instinctively rolled to one side; his skin prickled uncomfortably as he barely avoided another Stunning Spell. But he still had his wand, he could defend himself -

Draco was using relatively harmless spells against him, and Harry _knew _that he didn't have any problem using more lethal spells in a real fight. _He's not actually trying to hurt me._

Another hex, another Shield Charm, and Harry made a private vow to learn other ways of blocking as he scrambled to his feet and the charm faltered alarmingly.

"This is _pathetic_, Potter." Draco sounded more anguished than angry. "How do you expect to beat _him_ when you can't even beat _me_?"

_Ah. _

Privately Harry thought that Draco was selling himself short. "You're _good_," he managed, dropping to the floor again as his shield disintegrated. He tried for some humour. "What happened? Kwikspell course?"

Draco didn't take the bait. Instead of a sarcastic reply, Harry got a scowl, and he suddenly noticed how red Draco's eyes were.

"I trained every day last year," Draco said, his voice quiet but intense, every word clear even above the wind, "every moment I wasn't stuck in classes or working on that fucking cabinet. I learned new spells, finally mastered the duelling forms my father tried to knock into my head as a kid - I thought I'd need them to complete my mission… I thought I could make Father proud…" He faltered, then dragged his sleeve across his face and snarled, "and I still failed…at everything…" He lashed out; Harry didn't even try to block it this time. Pain shot up his spine as his tailbone cracked against the floor, but he kept hold of his wand…even if he really didn't want to fight. "But that never happens to you, does it? Everything just goes your way, whether you work for it or not!"

_If everything goes my way, why are you so worried about me not being able to beat Voldemort?_

Harry knew he was supposed to be angry and offended. He couldn't be. Harry didn't know where Draco had been or what he'd been doing, but he was soaked through and shivering, the skin around his eyes was sore and swollen…and he was suffering. How could anything else matter?

He cast the Summoning Charm with pure thought, no mouthing the words or even verbalising them in his head - and why hadn't he realised non-verbal spell casting could be so _easy_? Just a tug of want and need, a flick of his wand, and Harry had his arms full of struggling, furious Malfoy. Despite everything, he felt a wild selfish joy as he caught hold of Draco's wand hand to stop him hexing him again and used his full weight to hold him down. He'd half-believed that he'd lost this, and it suddenly occurred to him just how truly horrifying the thought of never seeing Draco again was. Never joking with him again, never fighting with him again, never touching him again…

"I really hate you," Draco hissed. But when Harry kissed him, he responded almost frantically - too much force, too much use of teeth… He tore his hands free, but not to fight - instead his fingers entangled in Harry's damp hair, pulling him closer.

* * *

Draco was afraid. It wasn't the useful kind of fear that sharpened the wits and gave fleetness of foot, but a kind of cold, smothering dread.

He'd allowed himself to get so cocky. He'd relaxed so easily into enjoying Potter's company, allowed himself all too often to push the 'W word' to the back of his mind, completely blotted out the fact that he was a spy surrounded by enemies…he'd even allowed himself to forget about the war, and the way the world could change in an instant…

He was a Malfoy. That fact had always been the bedrock of his existence. It had given him pride when he had felt weak. It had given him determination when asked to do the impossible. He'd coped with the loss of his home and possessions, even as the physical evidence of his family's history and existence had been destroyed or fallen in the hands of others. But now his father was gone, cremated to ashes and air before the eyes of his ancestors, and the dead were to be honoured, not wept over and selfishly wished back. His mother was alive, but completely out of his reach, her survival hanging on Draco's own obedience. Even Draco's own blood had betrayed him, throbbing to the same rhythm that drove the waves outside, a constant reminder of the pollution in his body.

What was left? He'd made a bold promise in the Lower Hall, but, forcibly cut free of everything that made him _him_, he was just a hollowed-out piece of flesh in freefall. And he was terrified.

He could hear Potter's racing heartbeat. When Draco pressed his mouth up against the other boy's throat, he could smell the blood pounding through his carotid artery, and the salt of his sweat almost overwhelmed his taste buds.

He might even be dead by the morning, or not change back…or change back _wrong_.

It wasn't lust that fuelled his kisses, but fear. He could hold on, just for a moment. For a moment, he could pretend that Harry wouldn't be taken from him just so easily. Even if he was weak, and shit at duelling, and relied too much on luck that couldn't last forever.

It wasn't about lust, but as Potter's fingers caught hold of his jaw and his mouth took possession of Draco's, he felt a quick hot curl of desire in his belly. "I was worried about you." The words were whispered against his mouth, barely audible over the shrieking wind, and Draco hated the way his heart clenched, as if squeezed by unkind fingers.

There were very few things in the world that were guaranteed to shut Potter up. Hard, desperate kisses and Draco's tongue stroking deep in his mouth was at best a temporary solution. He slipped his hands beneath the wet cotton of Potter's shirt, letting the other boy's body heat warm his fingers, tracing the familiar lines of his torso and carefully committing every dip and curve and ridge to memory.

Potter's hair trailed against his forehead, cold and wet. An image flashed into Draco's head - a different body floating in the subterranean pool, black hair drifting in the water, and dug his fingers urgently into wiry muscles, forcing himself not to go too far, not to draw blood. Warm. Alive. Safe.

For the moment - and the moment was all that could be allowed to matter.

He tugged at the fastenings of his robes.

* * *

Harry was torn. He had a sneaking suspicion that groping wasn't the correct way to deal with a grieving person. It could be some form of taking advantage. On the other hand… Draco currently had his hand down the back of Harry's jeans, his tongue in Harry's mouth, and was grinding his thick, hot, very hard and very pet-able cock up against Harry's thigh. It was an uneven battle, and with every movement Draco arched his back, black robes slipping further off pale, glistening shoulders. He reached up and plucked off Harry's glasses.

A few desperate, fumbling moments later, Harry had shed his clothes - and well and truly lost the battle. He heard fabric tear as he tugged the wet robes further off his lover's body. His skin was so _cold_; Harry warmed him up with his hands and mouth and tongue and skin, wrapping him in his own body heat.

The storm was still raging outside. A tree branch slapped against the broken window, sending leaves swirling into the room. Thunder rolled and lightning flashed in total unison. A few rain drops settled on Harry's back, and the wind was cold against his skin, but it was a minor distraction. All that mattered was that Draco wanted to be touched. And to touch. He was almost clinging to Harry, all bruising fingers and barely human sounds of desire. He kissed as if Harry's breath was somehow necessary for survival, licked and nipped at his skin, scored Harry's shoulders and back with his fingernails until he was perilously close to drawing blood and Harry was writhing, his senses drowning, totally overwhelmed by the boy beneath him.

Draco caught hold of Harry's hand, put two of his fingers into his mouth - and started to suck.

_Wow. _Not only had Harry discovered two personal kinks in as many minutes, but he got a surging thrill down his spine as a sudden thought struck him - what Draco might want him to do with those fingers he was so thoroughly wetting up…

Though perhaps he was wrong. He was sure they both knew lubrication spells - surely it would be easier to use one of them if he really wanted -

A low growl thrummed around his fingers as Draco tried to move his legs and found them restrained by thick fabric. He jerked back and tore the robes free with one swift movement of his hand. Harry looked into wild, scared grey eyes, then at fingernails that seemed to be thicker and sharper than just a moment before, and finally at the body displayed to him… His brain turned to goo, and he was barely aware of his fingers pressing against puckered flesh, pushing into heat and tightness.

Tension wound throughout his body. "I want to -" He bit back the words, almost shocked by what he had been about to ask, by what he _wanted_… Draco swore and shuddered and clenched around Harry's fingers, and Harry's mind chose to go blank except for one thought. Of course he wanted that tightness around his cock instead of his fingers - he was only human. And that want was bound up with so many others - less physical, less simple, wants he instinctively flinched away from - to take, to control, to _own_.

"- _fuck me._" Draco completed Harry's request in a hoarse growl that sent a sharp shiver of lust down his spine and made him groan out loud. "What's stopping you?"

Harry froze. _Is that a…yes?_

Draco's fingers gripped his jaw, pointed nails digging into his skin. His cheeks were flushed red, beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, his eyes glittered with something desperate and wild - and any doubts Harry had as to whether he liked this were swept away as Draco twisted his body again and again, forcing Harry's fingers deeper, quick gasps of breath hissing between his parted lips. "I…can…"

* * *

_I _can _do this._

He could bask in Potter's heat, blocking out memories of a dark cell and clinking chains. If he did this, then perhaps he could laugh in Greyback's face. The werewolf had hurt Draco, scared him, polluted him - but he hadn't taken everything, hadn't had everything he so badly wanted.

Still, it was hard to relax. His body had stopped resisting, eagerly surrendered to Potter - as it always did, he thought sourly - but even two fingers was uncomfortable, and his mind didn't surrender as easily. He tried to tell himself that it would be good - everything he'd done with Harry so far had been good - but he couldn't shake the thought that it was going to hurt. A lot. And that it would be humiliating.

And he still wanted it.

He shut his eyes, and determinedly fought the burning sensation behind his eyelids as he felt the fingers withdraw and Potter groped for his wand.

Just to hold on, for a moment.

On the plus side, if Potter hurt him badly enough, it would shatter these stupid feelings…

"_Fuck!_" The balance shifted. His thoughts fell away, and suddenly everything was about his body - the trembling hands gripping his knees just that bit too tightly, pushing them up and apart, Potter's first tentative breach of his body…

"Draco?" He heard the unspoken question in Harry's whisper. He took a deep breath and managed a quick shake of his head. "This isn't as easy as I thought it would be."

_No. Fucking. Kidding._

Potter took a better grip on his legs and awkwardly hoisted him up - _like fucking baggage _- and back, finally finding the right angle.

"_Ahhh!"_ One slow, smooth stroke and that was it. He was well and truly skewered by Potter's cock, opened wide, full, _connected_. And it really fucking hurt. Draco sucked air into his lungs and grimly fought the fight or flight urge that was causing pain to judder along his bones.

"God…"

Draco mentally echoed Potter's exclamation. He could have lived without the pain, but -

He clenched around Harry, revelling in the burn and the stretch, the feel of him in him, _with _him, and forced his eyes open. He met Harry's gaze, saw the hard, possessive hunger and open adoration warring in his eyes, and almost slammed his own shut again. His own deep breaths and the hammering of his heart were painfully loud as he embraced his enhanced senses. The musky stench of sweat and sex was overwhelming. The light swirl of raindrops sent sparks of sensation across his skin.

Harry's low moan was a delicious thing. He moved - and Draco…responded. Like he always did. It wasn't pleasure - it still hurt too much - but it was emotion, and excitement that felt like a wild creature inside him, and he could see the pleasure in Harry's eyes as he moved, and that was a weird kind of indulgence all by itself…

_Connected…_

"Oh, shit…" Harry's eyes squeezed shut. Draco felt his shudders, his fingers digging painfully hard into his thighs, and was trying to think of a suitably harsh curse to inflict on him as he felt liquid warmth spread inside him.

"Couldn't you have held on for just a bit longer!" he snarled.

"Sorry…" Potter's irritation and embarrassment were almost comical. The sting as he pulled out wasn't, nor was the odd sensation of Potter's come trickling out of him, leaving a sticky, rapidly cooling trail between his cheeks.

Draco felt…strange. Potter leapt on him, winding his body back up to pounding, desperate arousal with all his usual enthusiasm, and he came wonderfully, partially in Potter's mouth, partially on his face. But as he laughed at his lover's indignant expression, he found tears rolling down his face.

* * *

"Are you sure you're all right?" Harry had fixed the broken window as best he could, and was in the process of drying out the room. Draco sat on the floor with his torn robes wrapped partially around him, showing a distracting amount of ivory skin. He'd settled back into his usual pose of cool indifference; Harry wasn't fooled.

The sex had been intense in a way he hadn't expected. Strings of come dribbling down his face - and it had barely missed his eye, which was _not_ funny - hadn't been enough to dilute his high.

But Draco had cried. He'd tried to hide it, covering his face with his arm, and shoved Harry away when he'd tried to comfort him.

And now he was pretending that it had never happened.

"I'm fine. But you're getting on my nerves." Draco reached out a long finger and flicked one of the chunks of black ice.

"You know, that was a gift from Ron."

"Those things are only good for a couple of goes anyway."

"I was worried about you," Harry said quietly. _And I still am. _"I thought -"

"That I'd gone to avenge my father?" Draco's mouth twisted into a grin, forced and ugly and with absolutely no humour in it. "Oh, I _did_."

Thoroughly confused, Harry watched as Draco got to his feet, pulling a little oilskin bag from his robes. He opened it, and peeled back the fabric to reveal something bigger than the bag itself.

A small golden cup with two handles.

Hufflepuff's cup, Harry realised with a start as it was placed in his hand. The skin on his palm prickled uncomfortably.

"When you kill him," Draco said calmly, "make it slow…make him _suffer_."

* * *


	27. Chapter 18

18.

"It's real, isn't it?" The cup sat all by itself on a carefully cleared table in the Potions workshop. Hermione studied it with rapt eyes, but even she chose not to get too close.

Draco snorted. "Of course it's real. I'm not you - I don't go around snatching things without thinking."

Ron shot him a withering look. "Are you absolutely sure?" he asked Hermione, voice low as if he thought the cup could somehow hear him. "After last time -" The sentence trailed off as she glared at him.

"Can't you feel it?" she said softly.

There were four cauldrons bubbling in the workshop, and the heat was oppressive, but Harry felt suddenly cold. "_You_'re going on a _feeling_?" he said, trying to keep his voice light. "Ok - I'm onto you. How did you get hold of Polyjuice, Professor Trelawney? And where have you hidden Hermione?"

Hermione's shoulders tensed, then she looked at him, her expression a mixture of outrage and amusement. Amusement won; she gave a rather embarrassed laugh. "I know, I know! If I start reading tea-leaves, promise me you'll be a true friend and kill me."

Harry returned the smile. "You could never sink so low." She laughed again, but her gaze drifted back to the cup. Her face was even paler than Draco's, and it looked as if some unkind person had rubbed ink into the skin beneath her eyes. "Are you having trouble sleeping?"

"Quite the opposite, actually," Hermione said, her mouth twitching into a rueful smile. "All my body seems to want to do is sleep. It's waking up that's the problem. I don't know what's wrong with me."

Harry looked at her. He felt as if he was treading on very thin ice as he asked, "Do you think this because of Regulus' curse? Or something else?"

"That's one of the things I need to figure out," Hermione replied, much too quickly. Harry didn't really trust himself to read body language or pick up on subtle changes in tone, but he knew when he was being blocked. He'd had rather a lot of experience of that.

"I thought Professor Snape had the cup?" It was an obvious attempt to change the subject, but Harry watched Hermione's tired face become suddenly animated and was too busy being relieved to care.

"Cassiopeia lied," Draco said calmly from where he lounged against the wall.

"A Malfoy _lying_?" Ron snorted. "Call the Skeeter woman. This is big news."

Harry tensed himself for the comeback and the inevitable fight. It didn't come. He took a chance and glanced over at Draco. He had his haughty expression fixed firmly in place, and gave a loose, graceful shrug. "She lied to _me_, Weasley. Her beloved little brother. That Tom person must have been _very_ persuasive."

Harry had the presence of mind to flick his gaze away before he gave away his shock to Draco, but he felt the blood drain from his face.

_Tom?_

Ron looked like he'd been slapped. Hermione closed her eyes and pressed the palms of her hands against the table. Harry willed them not to say anything.

_This is the last thing he needs right now, not on top of everything else…_

"Well…" Draco drew the word out. Harry could feel his eyes boring into the back of his neck. "I appear to have dropped a bombshell. Care to enlighten me?" Harry heard the bite in his voice. He reached out, catching Draco's arm as he stepped forward.

"I _will _tell you everything," he hissed. "_Later_. I'll even let you look at my memories." Draco had reluctantly accepted a t-shirt and jeans in the place of his torn robes; his skin was warm and soft under Harry's fingers. He felt heat pool in his stomach and crotch, that familiar _need _throbbing inside him, and his next words came out harder than intended, one last desperate attempt to protect them all. "But if you use Legilimency on my friends I _will _hurt you."

Draco clenched his fist. Harry looked into grey eyes that were as sharp and malicious as he'd ever seen them, but he fancied he could see something else in there - something panicky and ready to strike out. Draco was trembling, and Harry didn't think it was with anger. He tightened his grip. _Just trust me for once. _"I mean it."

"I know." Harry caught a momentary softening in Draco's gaze as he turned away, pulling his arm free with effortless strength. "Maybe there's hope for you after all," he said lightly.

* * *

And maybe there was. Draco hated how his skin tingled and his stomach tightened under that gaze - and just how the hell _did_ Potter manage to make his eyes so tender and so _hard_ at the same time? But he was rather impressed despite himself.

'_Nice' won't get him anywhere._

"Weasley does look like he's having some rather loud thoughts," Draco said, amazed at how careless his own voice sounded. "It would be so easy…" Potter glared at him, and got a bright, brittle smile in return. "But who knows what I'd pick up poking around inside his head? Stupidity is probably contagious."

"Your father was responsible for everything Ginny went through," Weasley snapped. "And Voldemort did the exact same thing to one of his children? Guess there's some kind of sick justice in the world - you people should be more careful about the kind of nutter you follow."

"Ron!"

"I wish it had been you, though."

"Ron!"

Draco was vaguely aware of Potter shouting at Weasley, but he couldn't bring himself to care. His mind was racing, connecting up the things he knew - and speculating about the things he didn't. As the picture formed in his head, he felt bile rise in his throat. His nails bit into his palms as he clenched his fists.

'_He was my only friend…'_

His fingers were getting sticky, and he could smell his own blood.

Potter caught hold of Weasley's arm, dragging him away. He spoke to him in a low, urgent voice, probably intending to be discreet, but Draco could hear every word, as clear as a bell - and he _wouldn't _let himself think about why that was.

Potter didn't go into the gory details, but he said enough. Weasley looked shamefaced, and he actually dared to have pity in his eyes when he looked at Draco, but he pressed on, his voice as low as Potter's, and just as intense. "Lucius Malfoy set my sister up to be possessed by that _monster_. It was pure luck that no one died. And everything else that he's done… I'm not happy that he's dead - come on, Harry, you _know_ I'm not - but…"

At another time, Draco might have been amused by the amount of hypocrisy these three could manage. It wasn't that time. He found his eyes fixated on Weasley's stupid scrawny neck as he waffled on, a Pure-blood actually trying to deny he held grudges.

What did _he _know about hate, anyway?

Sparks of pain shot along Draco's bones - and the fear he'd been keeping so carefully locked down burst free. With it came the grief. Everything hurt, he couldn't breathe, and he didn't know how he could hold it all inside him - but he would _not _show his weakness to Weasley and Granger.

A flask was thrust in front of his face. "Drink this." Granger didn't offer any pity or empty platitudes, and for that he was almost grateful. He snatched the flask, gagging at the smell. The potion was actually smoking.

"Damocles Belby was a genius," Granger said as she turned away. "With that one potion he proved that old alchemical principles underrated and even discredited in modern magic _do _actually work. Most wizards just aren't intelligent enough to understand the subtleties of the art." Draco _knew _what was coming next, and that knowledge was like a rush of cold water through his brain, pushing aside anger, fear, grief, confusion - everything that could interfere with self-preservation. "It may be one of the most advanced potions in the world -"

"So how can _I _make changes to it?" The potion tasted worse than it smelled. "Well, I didn't. Professor Snape did. Back when I was…bitten." He had to force the word out. "Most of the changes are to speed up the brewing time." And that was the true bit. Now for the lie.

Granger narrowed her eyes. "You've been in touch with Snape?"

"Not since he sliced my back open," Draco said with careful disdain. "Mother has, though." He smirked at her and watched her expression darken. "And you were kind enough to give me a chance to go and see her." He noticed Potter looking at him, an odd expression on his face. "Mother's not in any danger now, by the way." The nonchalance he was aiming for was impossible; his throat closed around the words, and he was sure everyone heard the choke in his voice as he spoke. "With Father dead, she's of no interest to the Dark Lord. Snape and Aunt Bella will make sure she's safe." _And, god, please let that be true._

He heard Weasley mutter something that sounded like "_Aunt Bella?_" Draco could have said something to defend himself - hell, he was downright terrified of the woman himself - but Bellatrix _was _his Aunt, even if she was borderline psychotic, and why should he give a fuck what Weasley thought of his family? He'd got few enough of them left…

His stomach churned, reacting to the potion. "Have you given some of this to Lupin?"

"Of course."

"He was quite impressed," Potter said. "According to him it tastes even worse than the usual stuff."

* * *

"Stomach acid? Really? I thought it was more vinegar and curdled milk myself." Lupin's foot slipped on the slimy stone floor. He frowned and with a flick of his wand, covered it in a luxurious deep-piled carpet. "Just think - you'd have to take it every day for week to get the full effects. But it's worth it."

Draco pulled a face and wrapped his arms tightly around himself. Harry watched him as his gaze flicked around the room in which he'd be spending the night, not settling on any one thing.

Not that there was a lot to look at. The three of them stood on the ground floor of an old fort. From all the scaffolding both outside and in, it was in the process of being restored, but the walls were thick and solid. Harry could see why Lupin had chosen it. Even if it was uncomfortably far from the hotel. Though _that _could've been a point in its favour as well.

"Another Muggle building site?" Draco drawled. "You do know how to live it up."

"Would you rather spend the night locked in the hotel cellars?"

Draco flinched. Harry had thought the cellars would be better - the idea of them being so far away during their change made him uncomfortable, as if they were somehow being banished - but Draco didn't seem to agree with him.

A droplet of water fell against his forehead. He looked up. The tower didn't have a roof yet, and the plastic sheeting that was supposed to protect its interior from the elements had been torn loose by the storm. It flapped in the wind, and Harry could see the evening sky, a few rogue clouds scudding across it in the wake of the storm. He remembered how Draco had panicked in the caves - yes, this would definitely be better for him than some underground vault.

"Well, the walls and windows are secure and the doorway's sealed." Lupin looked around, apparently satisfied with their joint handiwork. "You need to go now, Harry."

"But there's still plenty of time -"

Lupin rested his forehead against the rough bricks of the wall. His fingers twitched. "Harry - how can I put this without causing offence? You stink."

_What? _Harry felt his mouth drop open. _Ok, yes, I'm offended…_

"He does too, of course, but I'm just going to have to put up with that." Draco's smirk faded. A red flush crept up the back of Lupin's neck. "Honestly," he mumbled into the wall, "have you two never heard of post-coital showers?"

Harry felt his cheeks burn. He opened his mouth to protest - he _had _cleaned himself up - then shut it again. This was not a conversation he wanted to have.

Draco had no such qualms. He grinned, showing a lot of teeth. "_Distracting_, is it?"

"That's putting it mildly."

"Does this count as marking my territory?"

Lupin's only response was a low growl.

"I'll go," Harry said quickly. That should have been his cue to Disapparate, but he met Draco's gaze and hesitated. Draco's eyes were wild and haunted. His smirk was as brittle and fake as his 'light-hearted' banter.

Harry moved instinctively; two steps forward and he had Draco in his arms.

Draco managed to give off the air of a prince graciously deigning to accept a commoner's touch…while leaning into the embrace, his fingers twisting into the fabric of Harry's shirt.

It was just a hug, intended purely to comfort, but Harry couldn't help sending a guilty look Lupin's way. To his surprise, the older man didn't look irritated or embarrassed; he had a small, sad smile on his face and his eyes were soft as he watched them.

He felt Draco's nose press against his neck, the twitch of his nostrils as he breathed in, and the hug swiftly lost its innocence. Harry had learned to welcome that delightful tension winding its way through his body, and the way his cock twitched and his skin prickled, hypersensitive and waiting for a touch, any touch - but now he cringed. He could feel Lupin's eyes on him. If he could tell they'd had sex recently by smell alone, what if he could smell Harry's arousal? Could he hear how fast his heart was beating?

"I _like _the way you smell," Draco murmured, lips brushing against Harry's neck. Even the knowledge that Draco _had _to be doing this on purpose wasn't enough to stop the reaction of his body - or the image that flashed into his mind… Draco, every muscle starkly outlined as he arched his back, pale hair trailing on the floor, droplets of water glistening on his taut belly, cock swollen and startlingly pink - proof that Harry was doing at least _something _right - and the muscles of his thighs tensing up beneath Harry's clumsy fingers as Harry buried himself balls-deep in his body.

There had been something like awe mixed in with the lust as he watched his cock slide in and out, Draco clenching around him until his toes curled and he'd lost himself completely, coming _inside _Draco - and _that _still made Harry's mind boggle. He'd been part of him, he'd left part of himself inside him…

His cock throbbed. His face felt as if it was burning off.

"Git."

Draco gave a little snort of laughter. "It was a _compliment_," he said with faux innocence as he pulled free. "See you in the morning then, Potter. If you have fun without me, _don't _tell me. I like to imagine you pining."

"You wish." But Harry was smiling as he Disapparated.

* * *

And that was it. Potter was gone, alternately irritating and pleasant distraction that he was, and all that was left was a room with eight-foot-thick walls and the countdown to the moment those walls would be very necessary.

Potter's scent lingered in the air, and Draco found himself taking a deep breath, sucking it into his lungs. Lupin might have found it embarrassing, but for Draco there were memories woven into that musky scent - fragile bodies drenched in sweat and locked together in very human lust and pain…

Draco sighed. It was just another distraction. Unlike Lupin's scent, which was potent and overwhelming and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It was a big room, he reminded himself - it just _seemed _painfully small at the moment, and that was only because the flames in jars they were using for a light source didn't actually throw off enough light. The room was circular, so at least it didn't have any corners for the shadows to gather in, but the scaffolding reminded him of a cage…

_Come on! Snap out of it._

He shook himself - and tried not to think of it as something a fucking _dog _would do.

"Well - how can I put this without causing offence?" he parroted. "You stink too."

Lupin was no fun - he refused to play along. The sudden concern in his eyes made Draco cringe inside. "Do I scare you?"

"Of course not." It wasn't a very good lie, especially as he had somehow managed to take a step back without realising.

Lupin sighed and turned away. He'd left a flask propped against the scaffolding - _and food, as if we're on a fucking picnic_. Steam poured out of it as he unscrewed the lid. "Tea?"

"_No_."

"I could change it to hot chocolate if you prefer."

"What do you think this is? A fucking sleepover?" The words burst out before Draco could stop them. He was shaking, and his heart pounded wildly in his chest, but the words kept coming. "How can you be so fucking calm? How can you live like thi-" His voice caught, and he could barely breathe around the constriction in his throat.

"Tell me," Lupin said mildly, "what other choices do I have? Raging at the universe is tempting for a while, but it's ultimately useless. Crawling into a hole and dying a self-pitying wreck?" He took a sip of his tea. "Believe me, there have been times when I've considered it."

His words were calm and unsympathetic, but that very coolness was like an anchor. Draco focused on Lupin's voice as his vision blurred and he fought to breathe.

"Some people will tell you that being a werewolf is nothing - just an illness, a 'furry little problem'. Others will tell you that you're a monster, and that the only thing left for you to do is 'embrace the beast'. From my experience, neither of them are completely right - or completely wrong. The reality is somewhere in between. I'm not going to tell you that you can live a 'normal' life, but you _can _live." The first full, easy breath Draco took carried with it the scent of chocolate. His eyes focused on the cup held out to him. "And you _can _be happy."

Lupin had come to kneel beside him. He was much too close, but Draco caught himself, fighting the urge to spring away, and reached out for the cup. He wrapped his shaking fingers around the warm plastic and breathed in the sweet, rich smell.

Lupin wouldn't stop there, of course. He'd make it into a lecture. Draco braced himself -

"Sandwich?"

He couldn't help it - he laughed. And kept laughing until that lump in his throat choked him again.

* * *

Draco felt like something had snapped inside him. He was still tense and nervous, but he'd managed to force down the sandwiches. He'd even managed to have a civil conversation with Lupin while he was doing it - about the medicinal properties of chocolate, no less. He hadn't protested when Lupin had taken his wand, and put it with his own up on the scaffolding. Now he was standing with his back to the older man, listening to the rustling as Lupin took off his clothes. He could feel the tension in his limbs, the throbbing in his blood - like some twisted sort of arousal. Yet somehow he wasn't panicking.

Draco pulled his shirt over his head, and felt a tiny flicker of self-consciousness. He ruthlessly flattened it and viciously tugged at the buttons of his trousers. It was purely practical. Their clothes would be put up with the wands, out of reach and safe until the morning.

_Fuck's sake. I was never this uncomfortable getting undressed in front of Snape._

The St Christopher dropped out of the pocket of his trousers as he slid them down.

For a moment he fantasised about leaving it there. He could step away from the whole game -

He scooped up the pendant and slipped it around his neck. The chain was probably long enough not to strangle him when he - his brain tripped up on the thought, and suddenly that panic was flaring back up.

_When I _change…

Lupin scooped up his clothes. Draco looked away.

Crushing pain shot up his spine.

_Oh, god…_

The St Christopher tingled against his bare skin. He caught hold of it with fingers made stiff and clumsy with the pain, and forced his eyes to focus on it.

The message on the pendant was simple, just one word… _**Evacuate.**_ And, light-headed and dizzy as he was, it hit home instantly.

Something was going to happen at the hotel. _Something bad._

Draco spun around, not sure how he was going to pass on the message to Lupin without completely blowing his cover. A fresh wave of nausea and pain shot through him, choking off the words.

Lupin was down on his hands and knees, shaking helplessly. Draco found himself staring at the older man's narrow back, at muscles rigid with pain and skin slick with sweat. Lupin lifted his head and gave him what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile. He tried to say something, but all Draco could hear was crunching and popping bones. He wanted to close his eyes, look away, but all he could do was stare at Lupin's body as it contorted…

It was so quick. His eyes - much too sharp now - picked up on the changing forms of muscles and bones, and the pinpricks of blood that bloomed on Lupin's skin a split second before coarse brown hair pushed through it. So quick… Every part of Draco's own body hurt, and as he tried to breathe, forcing air into his lungs, he felt his chest expand - and keep expanding, ribcage creaking as it changed shape.

A muffled curse from Lupin turned into a growl. And the total blinding panic Draco felt could almost have been amusing; yes, he was locked up with a werewolf, but he himself was on his knees now, the stench of his own sweat almost overwhelming the 'animal' smell coming from Lupin. His body was a mass of hot pain, bones shifting position, muscles stretching, and this time he couldn't fight it. He was too pathetic…too _scared_…scared that if he closed his eyes he'd be somehow back in the cell, chains digging into his skin as his own panic made him tangle himself up, Greyback's saliva on his neck and mixing with his blood - and that was ridiculous, because how could that be worse than _this_?

Tears dripped against his fingers, and he found himself focusing desperately on his hands as his knuckles cracked and moved under skin that rippled and stretched. He tasted blood in his mouth as his gums split open, and he could feel his spine lengthening, and the creaking he could hear now was coming from his _skull_, and with the pain came a _feeling_, a pounding need to destroy, maim, _hurt…_

He needed an enemy, he needed to pass on the pain and the fear…

White hair burst through his skin, and he finally opened his mouth to scream -

The howl that swelled in his throat was no real surprise.

_This is it…_

As his consciousness was smothered by that fear and anger, it was almost a relief.

* * *

For the first time in days, the air was good to breathe, sweet and clean in Harry's throat and lungs. The wet gravel crunched and squeaked under his trainers as he trudged up the cliff path. The last clouds were drifting away and the sky over the sea was a deep rich indigo. It should have been a beautiful, peaceful evening.

A sound was carried to him on the breeze, a long undulating howl that seemed to come from every direction at once and last forever, hanging on the air even after the last note faded. Harry felt something tighten in his chest - but he also felt a shiver run down his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Perhaps it was a natural human response, a species memory from a time when that sound was a signal to reach for weapons and huddle close to the other members of the tribe, but it made Harry feel disloyal. How could he let himself be spooked by a mere sound when he _knew _who was making it? And it was still 'who', rather than 'what'.

Something brushed against his shoulder. He spun away, his heart pounding, reaching for his wand -

The tree branch creaked as it swung, another casualty of the storm, broken and dangling over the path at just the right height to imitate a hand touching his shoulder.

Harry sighed and put his wand away, not trying to fight the adrenalin dumped into his system. It made him feel sharp and fast, which had to be a good thing, even if he didn't understand why he was so jumpy.

He looked up at the moon. As a kid, he'd always rather liked the full moon. He'd watched it from his bedroom window, his imagination finding shapes in the shadows on its bright disc - sometimes it was a friendly face, sometimes a rabbit paused forever in mid-leap. However much Aunt Petunia might sniff and tell him - rather hopefully, he thought - that staring at the full moon through glass was a certain way to madness, Harry had always found it a comforting, friendly presence.

He didn't now.

Another howl rang out. Harry fought back a shiver and found himself quickening his pace.

He'd decided to walk back from the tower because he needed to clear his head and get his thoughts in order. It wasn't working.

He was worried about Hermione. She was obviously not physically well, and deliberately avoiding Livia, but it was more than that. He couldn't really pin down the exact things she'd said and done to make him uneasy, but they were there. Somehow he was going to have to get her to let Livia check for curses - and just the thought of that conversation made his head hurt. Even if Ron backed him up… Harry knew he was stubborn, but so was Hermione. _And just how _do _you tell one of your best friends that she's acting weirdly and you think she's been cursed?_

And then there was Draco.

Harry had replayed the conversation between Draco and Hermione over and over in his head, and something about Draco's explanation had seemed…off, somehow.

Back at the Ministry, Snape had let Draco go - supposedly in order to get Harry out - even if he had attacked them while they were escaping. Was it so strange to imagine him re-formulating a potion just for Draco?

_But if he cared so much, why didn't he protect him from Greyback?_

It was hard to imagine Snape caring, full stop. Yes, he had taken Draco with him after -

Harry stopped walking. He couldn't think about that night. He'd come to terms with the grief, but the sheer blinding rage he felt towards Snape caught him off guard every single time. The hate was a living thing, so strong it felt as if it was blistering his insides, and not for the first time he wondered what it would be like to put it to use.

He shuddered and pushed the thought away.

Something like an electric shock shot through his body. Harry caught his breath, his nerves jangling.

The wards at the hotel. They'd been broken.

"_Shit_."

Harry Disapparated -

- and got a vivid demonstration of just how it felt to be a bug impacting against a windscreen.

_Just an Anti-Disapparition Jinx._

But that didn't stop his head spinning or his stomach protesting. He rested his cheek against the wire fence and tried to remember how to breathe as he patted his body down. Everything was okay. Okay…

Only it wasn't okay. The Anti-Disapparition Jinx was a trap, just as it had been at the Old Schoolhouse, and whoever - or _whatever _- had triggered the wards was in the hotel. The Imperturbable Charm had been broken, because he could hear the sounds of battle - screams, shouted spells…snarls and growls?

He was running even before he heard the sound of breaking glass from the conservatory.

The patio doors were broken, hanging limply from their hinges, and shards of broken glass plucked at his jeans as he leapt over them.

For a moment his brain failed to register what his eyes were seeing; the first thought that shot through his head was to wonder why someone had slopped paint on the tiled floor - then his feet were sliding in it, and that was blood on his trainers and splattered on the window pane as he reached out to steady himself. His eyes refused to focus on the twisted shape on the floor, turning the exposed ribcage into clutching white fingers, the entrails into coils of dirty rope.

A low growl scraped its way into his ears, and he was frozen, unable to move anything but his eyes.

Brown fur streaked with grey, muzzle wrinkling as it bared sharp, bloodied teeth… For a moment Harry flashed back three years, to another moonlit night -

"_Lupin?_"

But it wasn't Lupin - he _knew _it couldn't be.

There was a broken wand on a cord tight around its neck…

_Hel._

She sprang, all coiled strength and bristling fur - and Harry couldn't move, because he _knew _her. She'd helped him. He'd _liked _her…

But there was no recognition in wild amber eyes.

The solid muscled body hit him hard. Harry slammed into the broken doors with a bone-jarring crunch, and he could finally move…but it was too late. Hel bounded past him, out into the night. She hadn't touched him. He was groping for his fallen wand when he realised the strangeness of that.

The beast was in full control - but she hadn't attacked him.

Unlike the other occupant of the conservatory. Harry didn't want to look any closer - but he had to see the face. He had to know who -

The lamps in the conservatory flickered and died. And the howling came from all around him, from inside the hotel and out, all the different voices harmonising into something terrifying but beautiful.

The whole Pack was there, and there'd be no politics or infighting now. They were in their element. And the Anti-Disapparition Jinx had everyone trapped in there with them…

_And I thought there couldn't be anything worse than Inferi…_

Harry stepped through the dining room doors, into the darkness. He could hear screaming, and he thought he could smell more blood.

Some tiny animal part of his brain was screaming at him to run, to just get away from that sound. He ignored it. The adrenalin was flowing properly now, and his friends were in there -

_I'm an idiot._

_But I can't run away._

* * *

The Wolfsbane Potion hadn't been a complete waste of time. Forming thoughts was difficult, frequently broken up by the overwhelming pressure of scents and sounds, but some tiny core of Draco remained, a reluctant passenger in his own body. Even if it wasn't really _his _body.

Too much weight and muscle, too much coiled, desperate strength. 'His' claws caught in the carpet. The walls seemed to exist only as scent - wet stone and fresh concrete - and beyond them was a whole landscape made up of smells and sounds. He could hear _everything_. Lupin's snuffling breathing. The clicking wings of a fly buzzing about in the scaffolding. The threatening rumble of Muggle vehicles. The sea. Music. Voices. So many voices. So many people. He could smell them all too - and the wolf drooled at the scent. When he let himself look out through its eyes, he saw its - _his _- muzzle wrinkle. He felt those unfamiliar muscles stretch and a howl build in its - _his _- throat, mocking the part of him that just wanted to scream.

Lupin's scent was a solid presence in its own right. Draco was vaguely aware of hunkering down, tail between his legs. Even the sudden thought of '_oh, fuck, I've got a _tail_?' _couldn't distract him from the cues in that smell. Older. Dominant. Submit. They dredged up memories -

_He's going to eat me. _Ragged fingernails dug into his skin, a rough tongue slid up his inner thigh, tasting him… _I'm going to die. _Then those fingers were in his hair, dragging his head back, that tongue tracing the line of his jugular, the heavy chains that bound Greyback sliding over his chest. _I'm going to die like _this_?_ His own chains bit into his skin as he fought to escape, made wild and vicious by the fear,but the hands on him were changing shape, bones crunching as Greyback clung to him, trapping him in a twisted bear hug, claws slicing into his belly… His world narrowed down to the body contorting against his and the fangs sinking into his shoulder, and he begged the universe to make it stop, to let Greyback rape him instead -

Lupin growled. Draco snapped back into a world of overpowering scents and sounds. He could hear a low, drawn-out whine and realised it was coming from his own throat. But he could still hear the clank of chains, feel Greyback being ripped away from him -

And _he _was there, as if the memories had called him forth into reality - Draco could smell him, potent and unmistakable amongst all those humans…amongst all that prey…

* * *

Harry ran. The light from his wand barely penetrated the suffocating darkness. More than once he almost fell as his feet caught against things strewn over the floor, and perhaps the one time he'd pointed the wand light down he _had _seen only pieces of broken furniture, but his imagination was working overtime, painting gory pictures in his head. The sounds all around him only made it worse. This was what had made his caveman ancestors learn to fear the howls.

Spell flashes lit up the hallway in front of him, casting twisted shadows through the great glass doors of the ballroom. Harry was still blinking, coloured dots dancing in front of his eyes, as he ran to the doors.

They were sealed. And every flash lit up the scene within, shadows and bodies in jerking motion like a film played on a broken projector.

Moody was fighting.

But he was on his own - and outnumbered three to one.

One of the werewolves leapt. The old Auror dropped to the floor, but a blinding flash came from his wand. The door buckled beneath Harry's hands. He heard a yelp.

For a moment, Harry wondered why his vision wasn't clearing. Then he realised that the spots in front of his eyes were actually spots on the glass…spots of blood.

The metal filigree on the doors had been Transfigured into spikes. And barely two feet away from him was a big grey wolf, saliva flying from its mouth as it thrashed wildly, trying to free itself.

His fingers tightened around the door knob until he could feel every curve and ridge of its fancy moulding digging into his skin.

A stray spell hit the one of the old chandeliers. Crystal dust glittered in the air, and the shadows leaping up the walls showed Mad-Eye going down, bowled over from behind.

Harry was already gasping out _Alohomora_. He threw his full weight against the buckled doors.

"NO!" Harry heard the sound of wood impacting against flesh and another yelp. Moody was bellowing at him, but he could barely hear him over the sound of his blood thundering in his ears. "SEAL THE DOOR!"

The grey wolf shook itself free of the spikes. It was huge, much bigger than Lupin, and Harry's hasty Stunning Spell just made it stagger. It shook its head like a punch-drunk boxer. Its wounds were already closing up -

For something so big, it moved incredibly fast.

All the breath was forced out of Harry's lungs as he hit the floor. Pain stabbed along his ribs, and he thought he heard something crunch. His glasses slid along his nose but thankfully didn't fall off. Not that it mattered, because his wand had spun out of his hand, and the crushing pressure on his chest was caused by a paw with a good fifteen stone of werewolf behind it.

But it wasn't attacking him, he realised through the panic. It sniffed intently, seeming…confused?

Lupin's words echoed in Harry's head. _"You stink." _He remembered Hel's reaction to him in the conservatory.

_I have Draco's scent on me? Is that it? And he's 'Pack'?_

"_Does this count as marking my territory?"_

Harry almost laughed. But, even in the dim light, he could see thick scars crisscrossing the wolf's chest, clumping its shaggy, discoloured fur into patches - and, as drool dripped on his face and its lips drew back from yellow teeth, he _knew _who it was.

He stretched out his hand; his fingertips brushed against the smooth handle of his wand. _Just a little bit further -_

"You need to brush your teeth," he said, trying to keep his voice calm and his breathing steady. He could feel the sharpness of Greyback's claws through his t-shirt - it would only take one sudden movement -

"_Impedimenta!" _

The flash of the spell dazzled Harry's eyes. He didn't even have time to panic as Greyback was knocked off him, claws catching in the fabric of his t-shirt. He heard it rip, but he was already rolling away, grabbing his wand -

"_Incarcerous!"_

Ropes sprang up around the werewolf.

_That won't work! If little Rolf could get free -_

He bumped up against his rescuer's legs as Greyback shredded the ropes. Harry's own Impediment Jinx made the werewolf skid back a couple of feet. Then more ropes were whipping up around him, and Harry heard the shrill sound of metal scraping against metal as the werewolf thrashed against his new bindings.

Tonks hauled Harry to his feet with a jerk on his arm that made him stagger. Her eyes never left Greyback. The steel ropes were already starting to creak as if they were under pressure.

Harry looked about quickly. The other two wolves were crumpled on the floor, silent and motionless. And so was Mad-Eye.

Harry's breath caught in his throat.

Moody was all right. He had to be.

_He kicked a werewolf in the face, for god's sake! He's too stubborn to die._

Livia was on her knees beside him, her shoulders shaking and her breathing fast and shallow as she ran her wand over his body. Fred and George hovered behind her like a pair of extremely jumpy guard dogs.

Harry should have been glad to see them - he _was_ - but it forcibly reminded him of the friends who _weren't_ accounted for. He shook off Tonks' hand and started towards the doors.

One of the werewolves twitched. He spun towards it, wand ready.

The twitch was its fur rippling as the skin beneath it moved. He could hear bones grinding together.

_Oh, shit._

"Sorry about this, Harry."

He felt himself caught by the spell just a split second too late to resist it successfully. He was suddenly…so…sleepy…

The last thing he saw before his eyes closed and his legs folded up beneath him was Tonks' concerned face.

* * *

Harry fought his way back to consciousness, following the screams that had forced their way into a very pleasant dream. He opened his eyes to pitch darkness, and the sense of a very small space around him.

_What the hell?_

He clambered to his feet, touching smooth wooden panels and what felt like shelves as he reached out to steady himself. He knew where he was. The little cloakroom had been the location of one of his and Draco's more hurried and desperate encounters; Harry still had bruises from the shelves on his back and arse.

He groped for the doorknob - and wasn't surprised when it wouldn't turn.

He was sick of this. He _didn't _need protecting.

He pounded his fists against the door until his hands hurt. "TONKS!"

_You can't do this to me…_

His foot knocked against something on the floor, and it was depressing how familiar the sound of his wand skidding away from him had become. Harry ground his teeth together and bent to pick up his wand. However many locking or sealing charms were on the door, he would get free.

He hesitated as his fingers closed around the wand. The cloakroom had been pitch black… but now he could see. His shadow stretched to the door, thick and black, and he could smell the sea…

He spun around, wand ready.

The light was coming from the back of the little room, in amongst the shelves and lockers. Harry caught a glimpse of pale hair, and the salt-water smell seemed to get stronger. Something heavy slammed up against the door behind him; he heard a snarl, and a gurgling cry, quickly cut off. His heart hammering, he stepped forward -

He had company in the cloakroom - a young woman, her head tilted back, her eyes closed and a wide smile on her face as she listened to the screams.

He could see right through her.

_Ghost._

Harry lowered his wand. Ghosts couldn't harm people. Though she didn't look like the kind of ghost that should be haunting a Muggle hotel. She 'wore' heavy black robes, and decorating her fair hair was an ivory circlet.

"_Your revered ancestor could make the earth shake." _The words were a caressing whisper in his mind. The ghost flickered and disappeared. _"He could rout entire armies." _Harry couldn't breathe. The stench of decay filled his nostrils and clogged up his throat. He felt small fingers on his neck, squeezing tight, but when he brought his hand up to free himself, it passed through cold nothingness. _"You are not worthy to bear his blood."_

His lungs hurt, his head pounded, and there was no way to struggle, nothing to fight back against. He saw the woman's face again as his vision blurred -

"Harry!" The door crunched as a spell hit it. "Are you in there?"

The pressure was abruptly gone, and Harry gasped in air, not caring about the smell. His head spun and he sank to his knees. "Ron!" What was supposed to be a shout came out as a croak.

The door disintegrated into splinters. "Bloody hell, Harry - are you okay?" Harry managed a nod. He touched his neck; if the pain was anything to go by, it was badly bruised.

_Ghosts can't hurt people… _

"I heard you shouting." Ron helped him to his feet by catching hold of his arm and giving it a good yank; Harry stumbled and caught himself before he fell over the body in the doorway. Seaby's face was slack and his eyes stared up at Harry, blank and lifeless. All that was left of his throat was blood and torn flesh - and a bit of bone that glistened in the light of Ron's wand. Harry felt his stomach flip.

Ron looked like he'd already been sick at some point. His face was so white that every freckle stood out like an ink spot. Harry caught hold of his arms. "Are you all right?"

Ron managed a grin. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Hermione?"

A muscle twitched beneath Ron's eye. "Oh, she's _fine_."

Harry was about to shake him, to demand to know just what the hell _that _was supposed to mean, when the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He heard a low rumble of a growl behind him.

He turned slowly. The light bounced around as Ron's hand shook, but he could see the wolf crouched in the beam, its eyes reflective white discs.

Harry felt the anger swell up inside him. This wolf's fur was russet, shading in places to a red almost as bright as Ron's hair. Harry remembered a tall, slim man with shaggy auburn hair, grinning at Hel as she'd ordered him to go to the walled garden. He tried to keep that image in his head, but all he could see was the blood around the wolf's mouth, the monster looking out of its pale eyes.

The hate was mixed in with fear. So many of his spells were useless against these things…

The syllables of the Killing Curse bounced around in his head. All he had to do was speak it out loud…

All it needed was a flick of his wand -

A lone howl echoed out in the distance. The werewolf's ears moved, listening to the sound.

_Lupin? Draco?_

The anger was drowned out by pure cold fear.

_They were safe. Why would they -?_

Another howl rose in response, this time from inside the hotel. The red wolf's claws scrabbled against the tiled floor. Then it leapt, sailing through the broken window with astonishing grace.

Harry ran to the window. Over a dozen wolves tore across the overgrown lawn and out through a hole in the wire fence.

It was over. He should have been glad, but -

_It's not over. They've gone after Lupin and Draco._

"It's not over." Ron tried to open the window, and jumped back as shards of glass dropped from the frame. "Werewolves don't do magic - and they certainly don't set up Anti-Disapparition Jinxes. There's a wizard out there." Harry looked at him in surprise - then caught himself. Why was he surprised? Just because Ron wasn't Hermione or Draco didn't make him thick. His jaw was set in a firm line. "We need that Jinx down - just in case the werewolves come back or something else happens. I'll see if I can catch the Death Eater. You Accio yourself a broom and go after the wolves." This time he noticed Harry's surprise. "Go check on Lupin -" Ron pulled a face. "- and Malfoy."

Harry hesitated. He wanted to go to the tower, but he couldn't leave Ron to face a Death Eater by himself.

"Look, I've got an idea. Just trust me, okay?"

"Ron -"

"Fucking hell, Harry! If I was _Malfoy, _you'd have no problem leaving me!"

To which Harry could have replied that he _would_, but he was honest enough to know that it would be for very different reasons.

He had to trust Ron to get the job done.

Ron gave him a slightly shaky smile. "Inferi? Werewolves? After this, I'll be happy to see a good old-fashioned Death Eater."

As he climbed out of the window after Ron, Harry decided that he felt exactly the same way. He felt a sudden rush of affection for the other boy.

"Good Luck."

"You too. You couldn't pay me enough to go after those things."

_Things? _

"They're people, Ron." But Harry had thought the exact same thing…

"In the morning they will be. Right now, they'll kill you, and enjoy it. And these blokes aren't like Lupin, Harry - if they do hurt you, they probably won't feel guilty about it in the morning."

Harry thought about Ron's words as he waited for the broom he'd summoned to get to him. Greyback he was sure felt no guilt, but Hel and the others?

_Do they really hate wizards so much?_

He Disillusioned himself as well as he could. The wind was cool and fresh in his face as he soared up into the sky. Unlike the last time he'd been on a broom, he couldn't leave the bloodshed behind so easily.

Far below him, dark shapes streaked along the beach in loose but surprisingly orderly formation. They were definitely heading for the tower. Harry kept pace with them as they reached a place where the sand gave way to rocks and wild scrubland covered the cliff side. Another howl rang out.

_Fuck's sake, Lupin - what are you playing at?_

He could see the tower. Soft blue light flickered from the open roof. Draco and Lupin seemed to be still safely inside. If there was no way for them to get out, then there was no way for the Pack to get in, right?

An explosion broke the still air. Harry swung the broom around, pushing it to its maximum speed in his rush to get back to the hotel. He heard sirens.

_Ron - what the hell have you done?_

* * *

They were there, at the other side of the walls. Every breath he sucked into his lungs carried their scent - and the sharp, delicious smell of blood. Every howl was an invitation - come out, run with us, _feed_ with us. And he was so hungry…and so scared…

Saliva flooded his mouth. His claws raked across the brickwork. And he wanted to crawl right out of this filthy, monstrous body - he wanted it so badly it almost overwhelmed all other thoughts and feelings -

Stabbing pain shot through what he still persisted in thinking of as his hands. Draco smelt his own blood as bare - _human_ - fingertips clawed the bricks, the rough surface tearing his skin.

Lupin's howls were challenging and taunting. The walls seemed paper-thin to Draco. Beyond them he could hear over a dozen heartbeats throbbing almost in sync. He could hear their breathing, their claws scrabbling against the walls, wood splintering… _The outside scaffolding? _

The tone of the howls changed. He could hear delight, eagerness -

His spine twisted. His skin stung. He was blinking through a cloud of white fur as fire spread through all those unfamiliar muscles and his heart seized up, bands of steel closing around his chest.

He was helpless…trapped…

What felt like every bone in his body dislocated, and Draco remembered trying to scramble to his feet under another full moon, the chains tangled around him making him fall, his face slamming into cold stones splattered with his own blood. The thick carpet was better, even covered with his own shed fur. He'd had to crawl then, until he could curl up against the wall, his hands over his ears not blocking out the snarling, and growling - and, oh god, the howls. He did the same now, and for a moment he was back in the cell, crying, unable to take his eyes off the wolf thrashing against the chains that held it, almost spread-eagled again the wall, desperate to get to him, to rip him apart -

A sudden realisation shocked him back into the present. He could move his body. Every inch of it hurt, and it was a long way from totally human, but it was under his control again.

Shredded plastic floated down from the roof. He heard the scaffolding far above him crack as something heavy landed on it.

There were no chains this time - only the sealed door. Draco refused to look down at his body as he forced it into motion. His face felt strange - and he didn't want to know what that looked like either. His bones crunched together as he made a leap for the scaffolding. And this wasn't going to last, he realised as a spasm shot through his leg, throwing off his landing. The moonlight was forcing him back.

There was a massive crack above him. Splinters showered down around him as the massive grey wolf crashed down through the scaffolding, distinctly ungraceful in freefall. Draco scrambled back, his fingers closing around a wand. His or Lupin's, it didn't matter, because he only had time for one spell anyway -

The brickwork peeled back from the doorway.

This time Draco didn't even try to fight the change - he welcomed it. This shape was perfect for running, and its dense muscle made it easy to smash through the door. Lupin was just a short distance behind him, and all those too-sharp senses told him that the other werewolves weren't far behind either, but he was free, and all he had to do was run…

* * *


	28. Chapter 19

19.

The hotel was burning.

Massive hissing, crackling flames poured out of the roof and every window. Harry flew through billowing clouds of acrid smoke that stung his eyes and made it hard to breathe. The heat was like a solid object, making the air shimmer around him. His t-shirt clung to his back and chest, and his suddenly sweaty palms slipped on the handle of the broomstick.

_This isn't real. This can't be -_

There had been people in there…too many people… If they hadn't got out…

As he'd flown over Folkestone, he'd seen entire streets on fire, buildings reduced to rubble, blue lights flashing as police cars, ambulances and fire engines fought to get through mobs of people drawn - or forced - out of their houses by the attacks. Entire sections of street lights had shut down, and he'd seen drifting shapes, just darker spots in the gloom, moving towards the crowds.

The Dementors were out in force on the Leas, too. Harry had left his Patronus to do what it could; if it scared the Muggles, then so be it - it was helping them and the Statute of Secrecy was just a sick joke now anyway. But Harry's fight was here - at the hotel.

Or it should have been. If there was a version of _Aguamenti_ strong enough to combat a fire that size, it certainly wasn't Harry's. He watched helplessly as the water just disappeared into the flames without even a hiss to prove it was having an effect.

Far below him, three figures stood on the lawn, their black robes billowing in the same drafts that kept Harry struggling for control of his broom. He found his eyes fixed on the central one. Even from this distance, with his eyes streaming with tears, he knew…

"VOLDEMORT!"

The screamed name was whipped away by the wind as Harry forced the broom into a dive.

That bastard might have wiped out the Order, and almost every friend he'd ever had, but it wasn't over.

_Ron…Hermione…_

Another robed figure appeared in front of the Death Eaters, charging towards them.

…_Ginny…Fred…George…Tonks…_

Flashes of blue and green light competed with the painful brightness of the inferno as curses were exchanged. And even over the wind, Harry could hear _him_, laughing as his minions protected him. He drew back his wand. So did Harry.

…_Mad-Eye…Livia…_

There was only one spell in his head, and for the first time Harry believed he could use it. It was the first time he'd actually wanted to.

…_Sirius…Dumbledore…_

_Look up at me, you bastard - I _know _you can see through a Disillusionment Charm -_

Voldemort's spell shredded his challenger into so many particles of drifting soot. He was still laughing as Harry slashed his wand forward, the rushing air almost ripping it from his hand. Every drop of grief and anger and hate poured out of him, made tangible and powerful by the curse -

The Death Eaters Disapparated.

The foul green light rippled as it tore through the air they'd displaced. Where it hit and was absorbed into the ground, the grass shrivelled and died.

Harry's body moved without instruction from his brain, frantically yanking the broomstick up out of the dive. It was just a little too late; his jeans tore as his knee caught the ground. He was vaguely aware of being thrown from the broom, and of the pain as he bounced and rolled across the lawn, but his mind was elsewhere, struggling to come to terms with what had just happened.

Soot hung in the air like dirty snowflakes, catching on his eyelashes and askew glasses as he roared out his frustration and punched the ground. It changed nothing, but he did it again, and again, until the skin of his knuckles split and his hands throbbed with pain. He told himself that everyone had got out of the hotel before the explosion - and that Ron hadn't been wearing a robe, so that couldn't have been him. It _hadn't_ been him.

He was safe, just like the others.

Somewhere.

The Muggles of Folkestone were all fine too - of course they were - the Death Eaters had just been destroying buildings…

Harry bit his lip. His eyes wouldn't stop watering.

"Harry?"

Harry looked up, shoving his glasses back up his nose and smearing soot over them as he tried to get them clean. His heart pounded as he saw movement in the air in front of him, and an outline that looked as if someone had cut a human-shaped section out of the scene in front of him and glued it back too clumsily.

"Harry? Is that you?" Invisible fingers poked him in the throat. Harry reached out; his battered fingers touched cotton and warm skin, found the shape of a shoulder…

"Ron!"

Ron removed his Disillusionment Charm. He bit his lip and looked down at the ground, blinking rapidly. Beyond the pounding relief, Harry had the sudden mad thought that he wasn't real, that if he let go of him he'd disappear again. He ended his own Disillusionment Charm and thought sourly that if he'd done that sooner, Voldemort wouldn't have left when he did. They could have ended it, one way or another.

"I bottled it," Ron said eventually. He looked over his shoulder at the burning building, still blinking. "The Action Duellist was supposed to be a diversion so I could attack the Death Eaters from behind… Then there was the explosion, and it was V-Voldemort… _Fuck!_" He hung his head, but Harry saw the tears drip from his chin.

His head suddenly shot up. "What happened to my present? Why did I find it frozen and in bits?"

Ron glared at Harry, as if that was the most important thing they had to talk about, and he was startled into answering. "Draco wanted to fight me himself."

"Vandalising git." Perhaps Draco trying to destroy Harry's birthday present _was _the most important thing they could talk about - everything else was just too huge, too horrible -

Harry blinked and stared past Ron, at the hotel. The flames were…going out? Not just going out - they were being sucked back into the windows like water into a plughole. He blinked again - and found himself looking at a completely flame-free and intact building - well, as intact as the werewolves had left it.

The conservatory doors were shaken open, and Fred stuck his head out. "We weren't sure that was going to work," he said in an infuriatingly matter-of-fact voice. "That was too close."

George pushed past his brother. "Wouldn't have put it past those gits to stick around until it was burnt to the ground, just to count the corpses. Of course, they would have been waiting a while."

"Weasleys' Wheezes experimental range number sixty-seven." Fred winked at Harry, who stared blankly back at him.

_It was another _trick_?_

"For the prankster for whom heatless, smokeless flames are just too tame. Scare your friends -"

He should have been leaping in joy, but his insides twisted, and he found himself gripping Ron's arm much too tightly. His other hand clenched against the dead grass.

"- cause impromptu fire-drills -"

_It wasn't real. Everyone's all right…_

"- watch Muggle firemen get more and more frustrated as they attempt to put it out -"

Harry felt vomit rise in his throat.

_I cast an Unforgivable and meant it…really, really meant it…_

"You bastards! _Tell _me when you're going to pull a stunt like that!" Ron dragged his arm free and went charging across the lawn. Fred put his hands up in mock surrender. "I thought it was real!"

"And we thought _you _were going head-to-head with old snake-features," Fred pointed out. He brushed his foot across the sooty remnants of the Action Duellist. "You're becoming a tricky little sod."

George nodded vigorously. "Always knew you had it in you." He swayed and leaned against his twin.

Ron peered at him. "Are you all rig- _Ow!_"

George followed his clip around the ear with a lighter poke to Ron's forehead. "You scared us too."

Harry forced himself to smile.

A party of grim-faced Wizards pushed past them. "Help, but _don't _get seen." Tonks' hair stuck up around her head like a spiky black dandelion clock. Her face was deathly white. "The Death Eaters think we've been wiped out - let them _keep_ thinking it!"

Harry started after the group - and was nearly jerked off his feet as Tonks caught hold of his t-shirt. "No way, Harry." He was going to protest - then he looked into her eyes. "Just how am I supposed to explain to Remus if I let you run off and get yourself killed?" Her voice was steady, she looked every inch the tough Auror, but Harry looked at the complete misery in her eyes and had the sudden urge to hug her. She gave a shaky laugh as she avoided the embrace. "Come on, Harry - don't ruin my image."

Someone else pushed past her. Harry caught a glimpse of a pale face set into a look of determination, and bushy hair that was verging on wild. He felt another rush of relief, but Hermione didn't even look at him as she stalked towards the fence.

Tonks didn't try to stop _her_.

The distant sirens seemed to merge into one solid block of sound. Out of the corner of his eye he saw George slump, caught by his brothers. Harry's stomach clenched. He found he could barely breathe.

"I'm going," he said. _I need to do _something_._

Tonks bit her lip. "Keep yourself Disillusioned. Concentrate on driving away the Dementors." She caught his arm as he turned away. "Harry! If you get caught, then it's all over. I'm trusting you not to take any unnecessary risks - don't make me regret it, eh?"

* * *

Unnecessary risks were all in the eye of the beholder.

Harry had caught a glimpse through the door behind Tonks before he left. He'd seen the pool of blood on the conservatory floor and the rough stretchers being levitated into the ballroom. Whatever they carried had been covered entirely by sheets.

_People died._ He didn't know how many were Order members and how many were Pack; he fumbled for memories of a Third Year Defence against the Dark Arts class - did werewolves change back if they died in wolf form? Not that it mattered - they were all _people_, and he couldn't feel angry at them. He couldn't feel much of anything. It was lucky that he'd already created his Patronus, because he didn't think he could call up a happy memory now if his life depended on it.

He hadn't bothered with a Disillusionment Charm. Without it, the Death Eaters came to him, and he _wanted_ them to come.

Red light washed over his Shield Charm. He lashed out with a movement that would have had Flitwick slamming his forehead into his hands - and why was he thinking about that _now_? Hogwarts was over five hundred miles away and might as well be in another world.

The Death Eater's mask fell away as Harry's Expelliarmus slammed him back against the wall. Burning embers scattered over his robes, setting them alight, but for a moment Harry was too busy staring at his face to notice. He couldn't have been any older than Tonks…

The flames that licked at his robes were from one of the fires he and his cronies had started…

Harry swore under his breath and dowsed him with water.

He wasn't like them.

Except who was he kidding? He could be - and he would have to be.

…_and either must die at the hand of the other…_

"_No._" He blocked another Stunner, vaulted over a pile of rubble, smelled singed hair as he ducked under a still burning beam -

Harry had always held onto a vague idea that killing was never the answer. It was something he thought everyone he cared about would easily agree with…except when it came to him. Because killing Voldemort was all Harry was there for. That was the whole deal, wasn't it? Kill or be killed?

The beam dropped. He breathed in smoke and sparks, felt the charred floorboards give under his foot - and his hasty Shield Charm disintegrated under an especially vicious curse. Harry instinctively threw himself to the floor; he felt something huge and invisible pass over him, plucking at his hair and shirt as he dropped. Strands of his hair floated down after him, as if sliced from his head by invisible blades.

The floorboards cracked; Harry rolled and leapt clear just as they gave way, another spell turning them into a cloud of blackened flying splinters. He'd wanted to fight - he _needed _to fight, but the fight he'd sought out was bringing no relief from the acidic burn in his stomach. The howl of the werewolves in the distance echoed the pressure building in his skull.

Mass murder, entire families proscribed, dead enemies turned into Inferi, werewolves used as weapons, Dementors' victims left to rot on the street…and now they'd - _he'_d - turned against the Muggles. If Harry's curse had hit home, it would have put an end to all of it. Any damage to his own soul would have been worth it -

The pressure increased, throbbing at his temples. He dodged a curse that came at him as a ripple of sickly purple light, and forced his eyes to focus on the wizard behind it. His opponent - he had to concentrate on him, not on the prophecy, or Voldemort, or what it felt like to have all his hate and anger flowing out of his body in a wave, his killing intent a physical, lethal reality…

He tasted bile in his mouth, and grimly forced it back down. His enemy would hardly give him the time to bend over and throw up. No, this one was _good_, and at any other time Harry might have almost enjoyed fighting him.

Then he heard it, unmistakable even over the crackling flames and distant sirens and the roar of blood in his ears. It was a sound that was burned into his earliest memories - and his most recent. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the Death Eater was enveloped in green light, then life went out of him in a rush and his limp body dropped to the floor.

Harry felt his legs give way underneath him. He caught hold of what had once been a window ledge, forcing his shaking body to remain standing, ordering it not to fail him. When had he become so _tired_?

He clambered out into the street, looking for the source of the curse. Through an alleyway he could see the flashing lights of a fire engine. So not from down there. He pulled his t-shirt up to cover his nose and mouth, but the smoke still burnt his eyes. Maybe a bubble-head charm would help? Or maybe not; he couldn't remember if it was only intended for underwater and he didn't want to suffocate himself.

But comparing charms was a job for his conscious brain, and it was Harry's instincts that were overwhelmingly in charge now. A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision sent him diving to one side, wand already coming around -

His brain caught up, and for a second he didn't believe his eyes. Then the car came smashing down onto the tarmac just a few yards in front of him, its windscreen shattering, bodywork splitting and twisting on impact with the crunch and screech of tortured metal.

It took a moment for him to remember to breathe, and another for his eyes to note the steam rising from the engine block and the liquid dripping onto the tarmac. Petrol. His body didn't seem to want to move. But he had to, because he was pretty sure fires didn't make cars fly through the air. Which left Death Eaters - or Harry's Avada Kedavra-happy 'ally'.

Except that how could anyone who used the Killing Curse so easily ever be his ally? Draco used Cruciatus as if it was a simple alternative to a Stunner, and Harry hated that, but the Killing Curse was on a level of its own, and if he'd believed that before, now he _knew _it -

Ahead of him, a building started to list, bricks crashing down into the street. A human figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the flames inside. Harry started running.

They were in danger - he had to help -

The building collapsed - the figure raised a hand - and three stories of falling beams and brickwork turned into a cloud of dust and ash.

Harry stumbled to a halt and almost fell as his foot caught on something. That 'something' was the size and shape of a human arm, the fingers curled like the legs of a dead spider. A mask skidded away from his foot as he scrambled away, his heart in his throat.

He could feel the magic in the air around him. Static electricity gathered around his wand, and every hair on his body seemed to be standing on end. As if synchronised, every fire around him exploded up into the sky, and he stood in a cathedral of flame, listening to faraway shouts as the firemen fought a losing battle against the inferno.

He rubbed ash off his glasses and peered at the figure in front of him. It was short, and he thought he could make out a mane of long hair and the outline of t-shirt and shorts rather than robes. Whoever it was had their arms stretched up towards the sky. Lightning lit up the towering columns of smoke, and the crack of the thunder that accompanied it shook the ground beneath Harry's feet.

The rain came down in a torrent, smashing down onto him with so much force it hurt.

* * *

The howls were no longer an invitation. They filled Draco's ears, all excitement and hunger, as he splashed across a muddy field, and almost overwhelmed the terrified baaing of the sheep he disturbed there. He snapped at them half-heartedly as he charged across the field with them, hidden amongst a stampede of warm bodies, and he could smell wet wool, shit and pounding blood, the small-minded panic rolling off them in waves as they smashed through a fence and out onto the road. Stupid things. So funny and tasty -

_No!_

It was easy to let the wolf take over, to just ride along in its mind, but Draco had no intention of eating a raw sheep. _No time, _he told the wolf, _bad dog_ - and he had to keep thinking of it like that. It _wasn't _him; he was just a passenger. If he allowed himself to think otherwise, the panic rose, and it wasn't productive - unlike the fear that spiked through him as he smelled the Pack, driving extra strength into his legs.

Greyback would _hurt _him. Draco knew it, the wolf knew it. There could be no stopping to indulge the hunger while that stench was so close -

He cleared a stone wall with one leap. Lupin wasn't far behind him; he could smell him, and hear his panting breaths and his feet pounding against the ground. The world spread out around him in a tantalising web of smell and sounds, and it was terrifying - but rather wonderful. _No, no, _no. There was _nothing _wonderful about this - not his super acute senses, nor the kind of speed in his legs he'd only dreamed of. This body could probably out-accelerate a racing broom - but it was a furry, drooling, alien _thing_, and there was _nothing _good about it.

He plunged into a thicket of trees. The part of him that still wanted to be fastidious cringed at the mud splashed up by his paws - he could hear the bugs he was disturbing, for fuck's sake, and they were getting on his _fur_ - but the scent of wet earth was glorious, and he could both hear and smell the sap pounding up through the trees and bushes and into leaves that scratched together as he disturbed them… The droplets of water they shed sparkled in the air like tiny gems, so pure and sweet and fresh to smell. Bats whirled around him, their squeaks assaulting his ears, and he felt a surge of motion through his strange new muscles -

One of the squeaks was cut off with a crunch. There was blood in his mouth, blood and flesh and fur and dry, leathery wings, and the snapping of tiny bones in his powerful jaws sounded just like crunching a boiled sweet…

Draco felt the muscles of his throat move, and before his mind could make more than a token horrified protest, he swallowed the disgusting thing whole. Well, almost whole - he spat out a drool-covered wing and sprang back into a run as if he hadn't just…eaten a raw bat…and enjoyed it…

Well, _fuck_. And his stupid body let out another stupid howl - and why wouldn't this stop? He just wanted it to _stop_. And he was still so _hungry_, and extremely pissed off, and the Pack was like a single, ravening entity behind him, their voices merging together as they responded to his howl.

He barely had the energy to clear the fence; his legs caught on it, smashing through the wood, and he staggered as his paws hit the road.

The sun was rising. It hadn't appeared above the horizon yet, but Draco could feel it, its warmth seeping into his blood, breaking the control of the moon. Thinking was becoming easier and easier, but fighting his exhaustion was becoming harder.

Time was running out. The Muggle road felt slippery and unnatural beneath his sore pads, his legs were growing heavy and every breath was an effort. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, which was disgusting, and he still had bits of bat-wing caught between his teeth, which was even more so…and he wasn't going to think about that. It could have been worse. There were houses at the side of the road, and as he shot past them he could smell the people inside, their flesh and warm blood, and saliva flooded his mouth… It could have been _so_ much worse…

And the Pack were catching up. Greyback's stench in particular was closing fast, and if Draco turned his head he would be able to see them -

A horn blared out, the blast of sound overwhelming his ears and stunning his brain. His ears slammed back against his head, muffling the sound, but painfully bright light seared his eyes, and his nose filled with the harsh smell of burning oil -

_Shit!_

If his mind was slow to catch on, his body wasn't. He leapt, and there wasn't the time to boggle at the sheer size of the monstrous Muggle vehicle as the wind of its passing caught at his fur. He hadn't got out of its way in time -

Metal clipped his leg, and he felt something crunch as he hit the road. _The Universe's revenge for the bat_, he thought vaguely as he listened to the sound of screeching tyres. By the sound of it, someone else had been hit - _and god, I hope it was Greyback._

Just thinking that name was enough to get his legs back underneath him. Draco felt a stab of pain as his broken bones knitted back together, but it was unimportant. The stench of the Pack was all around him, and he saw something move in his peripheral vision -

And he knew that scent -

As he spun around, Lupin's body smashed into Hel's. They crashed to the floor in a whirl of claws and teeth and enraged growls. Draco's eyes took in the scene in front of him - the stationary vehicle, the wolves hurling themselves at its doors, Greyback on the road behind it, his limbs bending in all the wrong ways as he struggled to stand. Glass smashed, and Draco heard a panicked yelp and realised that it had come from him.

_That Muggle almost ran me over. _

_But he _did _run Greyback over, and for _that _he deserves better than getting torn to pieces…_

Draco felt the howl swell in his throat.

_Come and get me if you think you're hard enough…_

He heard the vehicle's engine shudder back into life, but every head turned in his direction, over a dozen pairs of gleaming eyes fixing on him -

_I'm an idiot._

Draco bolted.

He flew over a low wall with legs given new strength by total, outright terror, and he didn't have enough of a head start -

Jaws snapped at him, and he couldn't outrun them anymore. They were going to tear him apart, and he was going to heal, and they were going to do it again - and just how much damage could a werewolf take before it died, anyway?

Huge forms loomed up before him, startling him out of his panic. For a split second, his brain struggled to comprehend what he was seeing, and he thought his night had just got even worse.

_Rocs? In England..?_

Then the stench of oil and rusting metal hit him. The giant birds were just Muggle machines, their outstretched wings made of stiff metal and their 'talons' just wheels bolted to the ground. Behind them, he could see the outline of buildings against the lightening sky. Perhaps he could break in and hide until the sun came up -

A heavy body slammed into his, and as he hit the grass, jaws automatically snapping at his attacker, pain flickered along his limbs. He could barely breathe, and as he sprang back up he was trying to control four legs with a brain that insisted he should only have two…

He tripped, tangled up in his own body, and the blunting of his senses by the rising sun was suddenly a relief, because the scent he'd been running from was right there with him. He tried to close his ears against the sound of the stone wall crunching under Greyback's massive form. Teeth locked into his neck, and he was suddenly glad of that thick fur.

Then they were torn free. Draco heard a pained yelp that wasn't his, Lupin's scent surrounded him, and how could this have scared him? It was like being wrapped in a warm blanket as Lupin stood over him, snarling and baring his teeth, somehow managing to make himself look bigger even as his legs shook and weariness bled into his scent.

But _why_? His father, his mother, Snape, Potter - they had all had reasons to protect him, even if they weren't always immediately obvious, but Lupin?

_I was scared of him. I was running from him as much as the others…_

Greyback loped over the grass. One of his back legs was still twisted at an odd angle, crunching as he moved, and he was panting, tongue lolling out of his mouth between gore-encrusted fangs longer than Draco's fingers…and he smelled _extremely _pissed off. The wolf in Draco wanted to roll over and bare his throat; the human half said no fucking way, and with the sun coming up and crushing pain rushing up his spine, it had the casting vote. He attempted a growl; the noise that came out wouldn't have scared a Hufflepuff.

The Pack circled them, and they'd run out of options. Nowhere to run, no way to fight - even if Lupin seemed determined to pretend he still could. It was over…

Lupin threw back his head and howled. Other voices swelled to join him, and even able to understand it, hearing their pain and exhaustion, Draco hated the sound. He wanted to scream at them to stop…go away…leave him alone… Lupin collapsed on top of him, and the terror returned in full force. He was too big, too heavy, and Draco could hear every pop and crunch as his body contorted -

Draco's own spine twisted and his bones popped loose and he heard his own voice join the agonised chorus.

* * *

Harry didn't know how long he'd been sitting on the pavement. The rain had turned off like a tap once the fires were out - of course, since the witch (and he was pretty certain it had been a witch) who'd conjured it up was probably aiming to save the town, not flood it.

There were glints of colour in the water that swirled around his feet, soaking into his trainers. More petrol, Harry noted dully, trying not to breathe too deeply. If anyone wanted to restart the fire it would be easy enough.

He took off his glasses and rubbed at his temples. If thoughts could become physical things, his had done so and were trying their best to burst out of his skull. His fingertips brushed against the jagged ridge of his scar.

…_will mark him as his equal…_

He couldn't have jerked his hand away faster if it had burnt him.

Even without his glasses, Harry could see the dirt - and blood - caked into the lines of his palm. Even the downpour hadn't been enough to wash him clean.

…_and either must die at the hand of the other…_

He shoved his glasses back onto his face, and plunged his hands into the water, gouging out the dirt with his nails.

He hadn't thought about it - not really. Had he accepted it or just ignored it? Even in his darkest moments after Sirius' death - and then Dumbledore's - he hadn't allowed himself to dwell on it. 'Kill' was just a word, easily spat out in anger…until justified anger was blurring into toxic hate and the Killing Curse was on his lips…

…_neither can live while the other survives… _

"Shit!"

_What am I going to do? What the hell am I supposed to do?_

_Some Chosen One…_

Harry pushed his hair back out of his face. The air was thick and dirty with smoke, but he could see well enough to realise that, for what it was worth, dawn had arrived.

"I didn't ask to be 'chosen'_._"

He bit off a snort of laughter. God, that sounded whiny even to him.

"Tea?"

Harry's eyes focused on the steam rising from the polystyrene cup, then on the boy holding it out to him. The kid couldn't have been more than eleven, with sopping wet hair, soot-blackened clothes and the biggest grin Harry had ever seen on a human being. In his other hand he had a packet of clingfilm-wrapped sandwiches, and he held that out too.

Glancing past him, Harry saw a party of old ladies pushing trolleys laden high with sandwiches and even a big tea urn. One of them was arguing with a fireman; he looked terrified. "That's my Nan," the boy said proudly.

Words drifted over. " Not safe." "Just doing my job." "If Jerry couldn't kill us -" "Show some spine, young man!" Harry winced and unwrapped the sandwich. It was corned beef with too much margarine, but he didn't even register the taste as he ate it. He looked up at the smoke-obscured sky. There was something clamouring for attention inside his head - something more important than food, or his own doubts…

_Dawn…_

He barely managed not to spill the hot tea straight into his lap, and it took all the willpower he had to slip out of sight before he Disapparated.

The shift from the gloomy street to the cliff tops was disorientating. The dawn light turned everything misty and golden, from the calm sea to the little scaffolding-wrapped fort.

Of course, the mist wasn't entirely natural, was it? Even up there, the air smelt like the morning after Bonfire Night, and when he looked towards the harbour and town, he saw it was almost hidden under a pall of thick black smoke.

_God…_

Harry forced himself to turn away. He had his wand ready in his hand, but there was no sign of the Pack as he approached the tower. He relaxed. Then tensed up again as he saw the shattered pieces of wood strewn across the grass. The tower door was smashed open -

He started running.

The door had been unsealed before it was broken - from inside, by the look of it. The windows were still sealed, but some of the scaffolding was broken. And a solitary wand lay abandoned on the floor.

His heart racing, Harry picked it up. It was surprisingly warm in his hand, and felt almost…familiar?

_Draco…_

He felt something move behind him, and swung around -

Tonks didn't even flinch as she looked at the tip of his wand. "Nice reflexes." Her hair had been pure black during the battle, but now it seemed to have acquired a greyish tint, and the spikes were definitely drooping. She gave him a wan smile as she swung her legs over the edge of the scaffolding and dropped down, a wand in each hand and a bundle of clothing clutched to her chest.

"What happened? Where are they?"

"Good questions, Harry." Her expression was tight as she pointed her wand towards the door. There was a familiar jet of silver light, and Harry caught a momentary glimpse of her wolf Patronus before it was gone, dispatched to find Lupin. "Let's find out, shall we?"

* * *

Draco opened his eyes a fraction, then slammed them shut as the bright golden light burned his retinas. Every inch of his body ached, and exhaustion weighed down his limbs as he tried to move. Information slowly seeped into his brain. His body was back to its normal shape - good. He was naked - bad. Grass prickled his skin, and it wasn't just tiredness that made it hard to move - someone was lying on top of him, their heavy body all hard muscle and pointy bones and skin that was hot and sticky against his bare back. He could feel something rather alarming poking against the small of his back -

His eyes flashed open. Lupin made a sleepy noise and shifted slightly. The hand resting against Draco's hip twitched and drifted lower, fingers lightly tracing the muscles of his thigh. He muttered something that sounded uncomfortably like, "missed you."

The rational part of Draco's mind pointed out that it was just Lupin, that he probably thought Draco was someone else and would be amusingly mortified when he woke up, but it was drowned out by a screeching surge of adrenalin.

His heart felt like it was trying to climb up his throat. He couldn't breathe. Something like a yelp forced its way out of his mouth as he heaved up with panic-induced strength. Lupin toppled off him. Draco heard the startled sound his former teacher made at being so unceremoniously wakened, but he was halfway to his feet - and already wishing he'd stayed where he was.

The grass around him was covered by a blanket of entwined limbs and lazily moving bodies. A couple of heads lifted, eyes looking at him with blurry curiosity and an expression that suggested they were trying to work out whether he was food, a fight or a fuck.

Draco didn't like any of those options. He reached for his wand -

_Oh, shit…_

It was on the floor of the tower.

If he could make himself move, he could slip away while they were still waking up…

Of course, that meant leaving Lupin behind. _But he can take care of himself. _Draco grimly forced his aching limbs into action. His head spun as he stood up. He tried to force himself to breathe.

Despite the heat, there was some breeze - it raised goosebumps on his skin and made him horribly aware of how naked he was. They all were - the whole scene looked like the aftermath of an orgy. Well…an orgy where they'd been serving blood and raw flesh. Didn't they say that if you were scared of someone, then you should imagine them naked? What a great steaming pile of Hippogriff manure. Perhaps it was better if all you had was your imagination - then you could think of flabby useless flesh instead of impossibly hard muscles glistening with sweat and clumps of shed hair stuck in dried blood -

He couldn't even make his movements stealthy - he had to get away, _now_.

He stumbled over someone's outstretched arm. Familiar pain shot through his bones.

_Run. Hide. _

Draco broke into a run. The other werewolves were definitely waking up now. He ducked under one of the Muggle flying machines. It was a shame he didn't know how to fly it - if it even still worked. It looked rickety as hell, and wasn't that typical of Muggles, dumping their broken old contraptions on the cliff tops instead of -

Pain seared across his scalp. His hair felt like it was being torn off, and for a mad, hopeful second he thought he'd caught it on the machine. Then a thick arm wrapped around his waist, and he was hauled off his feet, slammed back against a body that felt like a solid wall of muscle.

"Get off me!" Yeah, like _that _would work. His vision blurred, and he fought the panic building up inside him, frantically looking for something, _anything_, to focus on. His eyes fixed on the plaque fixed into the ground by his bare feet.

_**Supermarine Spitfire Mk1. **_Nonsensical words, but he sucked in a deep breath and let his mind wander off on a tangent. Just what kind of spell would you need to actually spit fire?

"Why are you running away, little one?" the werewolf asked, sounding genuinely confused.

At least it wasn't Greyback, but still… 'Little_ one'?_

"I'm not your fucking 'little one'. Put me down!"

Draco's fingers burned as he dug them into his captor's arm. Rather to his surprise, he drew blood - a lot of blood. The werewolf yelped, flinging him away, leaving tags of his flesh caught beneath Draco's fingernails…which didn't look much like nails anymore. They were too thick, and long, and sharp…

_Ah._

"This is not where we're supposed to be." Draco looked towards the speaker - and quickly looked away again. Hel didn't seem to notice - or to be overly concerned about her nakedness - but she retrieved a small pouch from a companion's neck and began pulling robes from it. "What happened to the attack?"

"We fought. We killed." Greyback opened the crowd by cuffing a couple of his Pack members around the head. "And we caught the traitor and the pup." He grinned at Draco, who felt his stomach flip and got the urge to tear out those gloating eyes. "A good night all round."

"For you, maybe." Draco forced his face into its best sneer and examined his 'nails'. Greyback's grin got wider; he heard a ripple of whispered conversation pass through the Pack. "What a boring life you must lead."

Draco found himself looking at his deformed fingers with numb resignation. His hands hurt, and little spikes of pain juddered along his bones, but he wasn't having to fight to prevent himself changing. It felt as if he was standing on a vibrating tightrope, his body - and could he even think of it as _his _body anymore? - waiting for a true need…

A dull ache spread through the flesh of his forearm, turning into blistering pain. He didn't even need to look at his Mark to know what was happening - he felt the burn, and the call, and for the first time he wondered what had happened at the hotel. Had the Pack been there?

'_We fought. We killed.' Fuck…_

"It's true?" Hel murmured, her gaze fixed on his hands. "What did he _do _to you?"

"And can you pass it on?" That question came from one of the younger werewolves. He practically bounced with eagerness. Draco gave him a baleful look, and tried to ignore the part of him that was whimpering, practically begging him not to get any closer. They were all looking at Draco with awe. At any other time, in any other place, he would have been preening himself, enjoying the attention.

_But being more of a monster than the monsters is nothing to be proud of._

"We'll find out." Greyback took a step forward. His eyes still held triumph and desire, but there was a flicker of something else in there - an almost childlike look of wonder. He ignored the commotion that sprung up behind him as two of the Pack leapt on Lupin - who was, Draco realised with a vague sense of surprise, trying to get to _him_. Stupid - surely he should have taken his chance to escape?

He could feel the warmth of the sun on his skin. Above the blood pounding in his ears, he could hear the sea - and the cries of the seagulls gliding high above him in the vast, clear sky. The werewolves stank, and his insides had twisted together until he could hardly breathe and the only thing his stomach was any good for was throwing up, but…this was not the cell. As Greyback moved closer, Draco found himself staring at the crusty hair on his shoulders and the massive raised scars crisscrossing his chest. It didn't matter if it was pride or fear that kept him frozen to the spot as the werewolf's blood-and-dirt-caked fingers touched his hair - this wasn't the cell, he wasn't chained…so why did he feel so helpless?

Why was he so afraid?

Something sleek and silvery shot through the crowd, pausing in front of Lupin. "We need help!" Lupin shouted, and for a moment Draco thought he was going mad, that Lupin had somehow separated into his human form and a ghostly version of his wolf form, and the former was shouting at the latter. But it disappeared, and Draco had other things to worry about. Like Greyback's hands in his hair, and his nose pressed up against his neck.

"Perfect." The word was growled, but heartfelt.

Draco could have played it cool, using wit and sarcasm to continue the pretence. He could have cried and tried to get away. Instead, he took all his frustration, all his revulsion and all his fear and lashed out. As if in slow motion, he saw Greyback's head snap to one side from the force of the blow. He felt bone crumple under his palm, his nails sinking into flesh, and saw blood splatter onto his fingers as Greyback's skin peeled back.

And Greyback laughed at him.

He caught Draco's wrist in a bruising grip, and roared with laughter as the mangled flesh of his face began to slowly knit back together. "Yes! Show us what you can do!"

Draco barely heard him. His body was a shaking mass of white-hot pain. The taste of blood flooded his mouth as his gums split. His lips stretched painfully into a horrible parody of a grin - and kept stretching.

_This _isn't_ the cell. I'm _not_ helpless._

_And _he_ should be afraid of _me_…_

* * *

Harry clutched the handle of his broom so hard that his knuckles were turning white and his fingers were going numb. Far below him, the silver wolf shot over the cliff tops, almost too fast to keep up with.

"_We need help!"_

He told himself that at least they were alive - or they had been when the Patronus found Lupin. But that message…

"Harry!"

Tonks' shout was almost whipped away by the wind. Harry tore his eyes away from the Patronus to look back at her. She was pointing down at the cliffs.

The first thing he saw was what looked like a giant propeller shape, white against the grass. There were a cluster of buildings near it, and a couple of clearings with old-fashioned aeroplanes in them. And around the planes -

The wolf Patronus streaked across the propeller and over the ridge that separated it from the buildings and the aeroplanes. Harry pushed his broomstick into a dive.

He could see Lupin, his fists flying, half-hidden in a knot of fighting, shoving bodies. He tugged out his wand, frantically looking for Draco.

Other images flashed past his eyes - Greyback on his back in the grass, roaring with laughter as he pushed slippery handfuls of his own entrails back into his body; a sleek white shape darting away from him, its jaws snapping at the werewolves trying to catch it. Elsewhere the fight appeared to be one giant joyous brawl, everyone fighting everyone else just for the fun of it.

_Where the hell is he? Did they get separated?_

He saw the werewolf as she leapt, and twisted around on the broom, wand ready, just a split second before she hit him. Her arm caught around Harry's waist, someone else's fingers wrapped around his ankle, and he was dumped off his broomstick with humiliating ease. He winced as the broom was grabbed by one of the werewolves and used as a club against his pack-mates.

Harry lashed out; his fist bounced off stomach muscles that Arnold Schwarzenegger would have been proud of. Caught in a head-lock, his wand hand trapped in a bruising grip, he belatedly realised something important - at least half the werewolves, including the one currently holding him, were naked, and blood and dirt weren't the best thing for preserving modesty. He didn't know where to look.

But he could be embarrassed later. He had shoes on and there were so many vulnerable bits within kicking range…

The male werewolf folded up with a satisfying whimper. Satisfying - but Harry couldn't hide a sympathetic wince as he pulled himself free.

Tonks didn't even try to get to Lupin on her broom; she leapt off it, the bundle of clothes and wands trapped firmly under her arm, delivering a few carefully placed hexes as she dropped. Her landing wasn't quite so graceful; she tripped over a Stunned werewolf and sprawled into Lupin's arms as he leapt forward to catch her, almost strangling him with his own robe, Draco's jeans slapping him in the face. At any other time Harry might have found it cute, or amusing, but their arrival had changed the game. The realisation that they had outsiders in their midst was spreading through the Pack -

Lupin retrieved his wand. One of the werewolves was actually still in wolf form, and Harry saw bright white fur, splattered with blood, as it sped towards him. Lupin didn't seem to notice or care, and it was only a few paces away from him -

It gave a startled yelp as Harry's Stunning Spell hit it full on, and staggered on long legs that looked as wobbly as a new-born foal's - and it wouldn't be enough. He'd seen how easily they shrugged off his spells while in wolf form - he _knew _it wouldn't be enough.

But it had to be enough. He _wouldn't _use anything stronger than Stupefy -

The white wolf shook its head - and leapt straight at him.

"Harry! No!"

Lupin's sudden shout barely registered. The wolf twisted in mid-air, Harry's second Stunner merely clipping its side. It made a noise that was part whimper, part snarl as the ropes of his panicked "_Incarcerous!"_ whipped up around its hind leg -

It was too fast. Harry tried to bring his wand up again, but it was already on him, the impact knocking him off his feet. He saw green light rip through the air above him as he fell, Greyback on his feet with a snarl on his face and a wand in his hand, Tonks and Lupin simultaneously throwing hexes at him… Then Harry was on his back in the grass, his wand bouncing out of his hand and his glasses slipping down his nose, and for the second time in too few hours he had paws on his chest and a blood-stained muzzle just inches from his face. Only that muzzle was snapping at one of the werewolves…and he'd just been knocked out of the way of the Killing Curse…

And the wolf was trembling, its ears flat against its head and its tail between its legs. It let out a sharp bark that sounded for all the world like it was swearing -

Harry looked into its fierce grey eyes and froze. He looked at the wolf - really looked, forcing himself to look beyond the gore plastered around its muzzle and the scraps of flesh caught between its fangs. There was a creamy tint to its luxuriant white fur, and despite its leggy and rather scrawny build it had so much grace in its movements -

_Oh, shit -_

"Draco?"

The wolf whined and took off, scrambling up over the grassy ridge and away from the fight. Harry grabbed up his wand, hauled himself to his feet and set off after it - no, _him_. Another werewolf was unfortunate enough to get in his way - Harry Stunned him without even breaking his stride.

_Draco was trying to help Lupin, not attacking him. And who else could it be, in wolf form in the daylight? I'm so _stupid_._

He clambered over the top of the ridge. The clearing beyond held the propeller-shaped paths he'd seen from the air, and for a moment he thought someone was sitting in the middle of them, looking out over the Channel towards France, their back to him. He was about to shout when he realised that the 'person' was a statue, slightly larger than life-sized - a young man in flying gear that matched the age of the planes he'd seen.

The whole place was a war memorial. He slid down into the clearing, narrowly avoiding an onyx-black wall. It was covered in names, and as Harry followed the bloody paw-prints across the grass, around the contemplative statue, he found himself silently apologising for bringing war back to this place. Even if it wasn't his fault, they shouldn't be fighting there. And even as he thought that, his back tensed up, half expecting an attack from behind at any moment.

The white wolf - no, _Draco _- was stretched out at the base of the statue, panting. He made a keening sound, his body jerking against the grass. Harry took a step forward, then stopped.

Draco was a werewolf - he already knew that. He'd known that for ages, and it _didn't _bother him. So why was his brain suddenly finding it so hard to take in? That wolf was his - what? Friend? Boyfriend? Lover? He should be helping him, not standing there staring, desperately trying to reconcile the beautiful boy he knew with the animal in front of him.

_Werewolf, damn it. They change into _wolves_. It's not that bloody hard to -_

Draco shuddered so hard he almost left the grass. His body contorted in a way that that particular arrangement of bones and muscle should never be able to -

It all happened so fast, but every moment of it was burned into Harry's retinas. Draco as he knew him was kneeling on the grass in front of him, crying and retching as he weakly tried to wipe the blood from his face with gore-encrusted fingers. But Harry could still see his muscles contorting and his skin stretching, could still hear his bones crunching…

Shed fur floated in the air. Draco spat out a fang that looked much too big and sharp for that mouth, and plucked ineffectually at the rope twisted around his leg. Then he collapsed, his shaking arms giving way, sprawling face first into the grass.

Lupin appeared around the statue, tugging on his robe as he ran, Tonks hard on his heels. He give the statue a brief nod, like one warrior acknowledging another, before he approached it, dropping to his knees at Draco's side.

Harry got there first.

Lupin didn't say anything; he just tossed Draco's jeans to Harry and rose to his feet. "Sirius watched me change more times than I could count," he said quietly. "I think it fascinated him." His voice held no condemnation, but Harry felt a quick flash of anger. Unwarranted anger, because he _had_ hesitated, he _had_ been repulsed, and what he'd just seen was still replaying over and over in his head as he helped Draco manoeuvre his trembling legs into his jeans. Draco could barely move, and he refused to meet Harry's eyes. Harry used the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe some of the blood from his face.

"Your wand isn't good enough for you anymore?" he murmured. Draco's eyes snapped open. "You have to use your _teeth_?" For a second, Harry was convinced he'd said the wrong thing…then Draco's startled bark of laughter rang out, and there was amazement and awe in his eyes, and that was wrong, because _he_ was the amazing one.

Harry was vaguely aware of Tonks and Lupin falling into fighting stances behind him. He wanted to hug Draco close, to show him with actions what he was so hopeless at saying in words, but he settled for wrapping an arm around him and hauling him to his feet.

"You know, if you want to show that you're tougher than me, there are easier ways."

"I really…hate you…sometimes." But Draco was smiling, and the way he said 'hate' sounded so strange…

"Harry!"

They had company.

The werewolves crowded onto the grassy ridges, but made no attempt to come closer. Harry looked for Hel; sure enough, she had her hand held up in a way that clearly meant 'hold back'.

"We won't shed blood here." She barely raised her voice, but it carried on the morning air, clear, strong and slightly sad. "We haven't fallen so low. Yet, at least."

She raised an eyebrow and mouthed 'go'. Tired as he was, tired and numb and still reeling from what might have been the most relentlessly bad night of his life, Harry felt his mouth twitch up into a smile. As Tonks caught hold of his arm, Hel smiled back at him, the expression transforming her stern, heavily-lined face into something beautiful.

His shouted "Thank-you!" was whipped away by the snap of air as they Disapparated.


	29. Chapter 20

A/N - Two chapters in one day? Well, Chapter 19 and this were supposed to be just the one chapter, but it over-ran...rather spectacularly...

* * *

20.

The scene that whirled into place around Harry was very different to the one he, Tonks, Lupin and Draco had just left. The bright golden light and open sky of the cliff tops was replaced by dappled shade, the murmur of the sea replaced by rustling leaves - and the very Muggle, very Twentieth Century figure of the pilot statue was replaced by an honest-to-god castle.

Was this the new hideout? If it was, it was quite a change from their last two. The little castle could have been conjured directly from the pages of Ginny's storybook. Its fancy turrets rose above the treeline, bright flags flapping in the wind, and a tabard-clad house-elf appeared on the lowered drawbridge as they approached it. For a mad moment Harry thought it intended to defend the castle, and his mind threw up a picture of it wearing armour and wielding a sword.

"Mister Moody's party too?"

Tonks flinched and nodded, tight-lipped. Harry considered the distance to the drawbridge. He was _almost _certain Draco wasn't being a dead weight deliberately, but Harry was virtually carrying him now. He wondered where he'd ever got the idea that Draco was _light_.

Lupin took pity on him. He lifted Draco into his arms with no apparent sign of strain, and Harry should have been jealous, but his back hurt, his head was starting to pound again, and he was so tired…

"Gwffy will take you to Master Iolo." Gwffy gave a little bobbing bow. What Harry had at first taken to be a tabard was actually a pillowcase - but it was made of silk and embroidered with fleur-de-lys. He felt a growing sense of unreality as he followed the house-elf into the castle. It wasn't calmed by the fact that there seemed to be no one else around.

In the last fortnight, the Order of the Phoenix had swelled to just under forty members, not including children or the refugees who were just passing through on their way to somewhere safer. Where was everyone?

"Harry." Tonks showed him a piece of paper.

_**The Order of the Phoenix is hiding at Castell Rhosyn.**_

The moment his brain processed the last word, he heard them, the sound of voices, movement all around him… The world seemed to ripple like water around him as he looked up - and then the empty courtyard was no longer empty.

Harry should have been relieved - but as he looked around, counting heads, he felt nothing. Mundungus was sprawled out over a crate; he caught sight of Harry and looked poised to flee. Harry surprised both of them by doing nothing.

As he followed Lupin and Tonks across the courtyard, he noticed the little man's gaze, wary and calculating, flick over Lupin and linger on Draco. Tonks was coaxing Draco to look at the paper, and as he cracked open one eye to do so, he automatically hugged his left arm to his chest, hiding his Dark Mark. From the look of startled comprehension on Mundungus' face, it was much too late. The anger suddenly flickering to life inside Harry was almost welcome.

Even more welcome was the sight behind Mundungus. Ron and Hermione were half hidden in an alcove, but Ron was about as good at hiding as Draco was. Harry took a couple of steps towards them before his brain caught up to the fact that the hug they were locked in was lasting an awfully long time -

He froze, unable to tear his eyes away as Ron's fingers awkwardly traced the line of Hermione's cheek. She raised her head, their lips tentatively touched - and Harry turned quickly away, running to catch up with Lupin.

He could talk to them later.

The room Gwffy led them into was as strange and fairytale-esque as the castle itself. It looked like Livia had claimed it as an ad-hoc infirmary, but the conjured beds and bandaged-up patients looked as out of place there as an army platoon camped out in a church.

Every inch of free wall-space was covered in enchanted murals. So many people injured - even more dead - and the murals bombarded Harry's tired eyes with images of knights in shining armour and fair maidens and 'chivalry' and a world so far removed from burning buildings and werewolves and flashes of green light… The band of pain around his temples tightened. His stomach twisted, and he looked away, up at the high vaulted ceiling. It had all kinds of brightly coloured birds painted on it, fluttering happily through their two dimensional sky, oblivious to the stench of medicinal potions, blood, sweat and fouler things.

He rubbed his eyes and forced himself to look around, doing what he had in the courtyard, counting heads and picking out familiar faces.

Fred was poking at George's bandaged side, ignoring the glares Ginny was sending his way. He said something; George laughed and gave a passable imitation of a wolf's howl. Harry wasn't the only one who flinched.

He looked at Lupin, but his face showed nothing but tiredness as he hoisted Draco into a more comfortable position in his arms.

"Stop joking about it!" Ginny's shout rang out in the suddenly silent room. "It's _not _funny! You're going to be -" Her voice was cut off as her brother swept her into a hug. George ruffled her hair, his face serious for a moment - then he grinned.

"_Woof woof_."

"_Idiot!_"

"_Ow!"_

"Oi, Prof! You're going to have a lot of company in the bunker…tomorrow…night…" Fred's voice trailed off as he caught sight of Draco.

Everyone in the room seemed to be staring at them. Harry had the sudden urge to step in front of Lupin, to shield Draco from all those horrified eyes.

Which was hypocritical, since Harry had probably looked at him in exactly the same way when he'd changed.

Livia was curled up in an armchair by the fireplace. A young wizard with a vaguely familiar face was perched on the chair arm, letting her use his rich robes as a pillow, and he started to his feet as they approached.

Livia rolled out of the chair with a grunt. "Merlin, and you always claimed to be a gentleman…" She snapped awake with a start as she saw Harry's group, scrambling to her feet. "Somewhere private, please, Iolo."

Iolo blinked, then reached out and tapped the panel beside him. "Through here." Harry stared at him, trying to figure out where he'd seen him before. He got a clue as Iolo drew himself up to his full height and peered down his nose at Draco. "Malfoy?" All those sneering, unimpressed faces at the Slytherin table as Harry had walked forward to be Sorted… The Seventh Years had all looked so _old_. Of course, he hadn't really been paying much attention to them. His dislike had been focused down the other end of the table, on one of the First Years.

Draco's eyelashes fluttered, and he cracked open one eye to glare up at him. "Bythell," he acknowledged weakly. "Congratulations - I don't think this little summerhouse of yours could possibly be any more vulgar."

Iolo snorted and looked at Draco with obvious loathing. "But showing up half-naked and covered in blood is pure class, of course."

"It is when I do it." Harry found an unexpected grin spreading across his face. Okay, so Draco didn't need as much shielding as he'd thought. "Did _you_ ever get a teacher to carry you around?" Livia disappeared into the panelling. As Lupin followed her, Draco seemed to be struck by a sudden thought. His clear voice rang out in the still quiet room. "Bythell? Livia? Were you two shagging at Hogwarts? Are you lending us this place as some kind of attempt to get back in her pants? Because I really don't think she's worth it."

* * *

Draco watched the clouds scud across the ceiling from beneath partially-lowered eyelids. Livia had seemed rather disappointed that none of the blood was his, but at least he'd got a private room out of it.

The food Lupin had forced him to eat lay heavy in his stomach. He was exhausted, but sleep was impossible. He ran his fingers over his face for about the fifteenth time.

"Everything still there?" The painted monkeys on the frieze didn't want to get close to Lupin or Draco; they clustered on the wall behind Potter as if he could protect them. Potter looked like he was trying for a casual grin - what he managed was more like a grimace. His eyes were haunted, their usual flash and sparkle smothered by shadows and misery. For some reason, that bothered Draco immensely.

_Come on, Potter - you're no use to me like this._

"Keep teasing me and I'll maul you too." Keeping a light tone was difficult, but worth it to see that grin widen and become real, even if it was only for a moment.

Potter had done a good job of cleaning his hands; Draco couldn't see a single spot of blood left on his fingers…but he knew it was there. He could still feel it - and taste it in his mouth.

_Animal._

The thought was more a cold statement of fact than condemnation. It was what his father would have considered him now. Worse than an animal - animals were simply a lower order of life, which Nature had intended to be used by their betters. Like Muggles, Werewolves had the bad taste to look physically indistinguishable from Wizards - at least most of the time - but, unlike Muggles, many of them could perform magic. They were an abomination.

_Abomination. _Draco tried to reconcile that word with the face he could feel beneath his fingers, with the way Potter was prepared to play with him, even after seeing him change. _Monster. _His heart felt like a heavy weight hanging in his chest - and that had to be a lie, the way it clenched with grief when he thought of his father, the way it lightened slightly, warmth pooling in his belly, when Harry grinned at him like that. It had to be a lie, or his imagination, because Dark Creatures couldn't _feel _like real people did. Some of them had near-human intelligence - that couldn't be denied - but real human feelings?

He didn't feel any different. Why didn't he feel different?

"You need rest. Try to get some, both of you."

Lupin swayed as he stood up. Potter reached out to steady him. "You too. And -" He got a disgusting look of noble resolve on his face. "- we'll cope. Last night was bad but it won't finish us."

Draco looked at them - Potter, with his pig-headed determination, and Lupin, a werewolf who seemed able to see himself as something other than a monster. At that moment he envied them both.

"Just how _do_ you expect to win, exactly?" Draco said. "More than half your force is injured or giving Greyback and his cronies indigestion. That Muggle town's in ruins, and Bythell's an idiot if he thinks his gaudy little home isn't going to end up the same way. Potter here is no master duellist. Have you got _any_ plans other than sticking two fingers up at the Dark Lord?"

Potter looked as if he was about to launch into a passionate defence of the Order - and god, needling him was worth it, just to see colour rush into his cheeks and life flash into his eyes. Lupin just sighed and smiled. "Isn't there value in just that?" he said softly. "Our very existence proves that Voldemort _isn't _all powerful, and it _is _possible to defy him."

Draco wanted to lash out, to tear down their delusions. Did Lupin actually _believe _that? _He's just fucking humouring me. Why doesn't he just pat me on the head and be done with it?_

Lupin looked thoughtful. "Do you know where we were? That was a memorial to a battle fought half a century ago, in which a small force took on a much larger, more powerful one, and won."

Draco frowned. What was he talking about? All Grindelwald's battles had been fought on the Continent.

Potter was staring at Lupin as if he'd somehow managed to surprise him. He shrugged. "Andromeda used to smuggle Muggle adventure novels to Sirius. It was like a game between them." A small, fond smile tugged at his lips. "He spent half of Second Year wanting to be a fighter pilot when he grew up."

_Oh. A _Muggle _battle. _Draco immediately lost interest. Then he thought of his own secret little stash of books; having even one thing in common with his insane, if thankfully dead, cousin was not something he was happy about. And it might even be more than one thing, if he was reading Lupin correctly. _Yuck._

"Why not go and reminisce to Cousin Nymphadora?" That was the Half-blood's name, wasn't it? "Or has she heard enough about mad, bad Cousin Sirius to last her a lifetime?" Lupin didn't even twitch - but a pink flush spread up his neck. _Score one. _Draco grinned, and looked up at Lupin from beneath coquettishly-lowered eyelashes. "You seem to really like my family. Should I be worried?"

Lupin's eyes hardened, his flush deepening. Then he forced a smile. "I only like the _nice _Blacks."

"Touché. Not entirely convincing, but a nice comeback. I'd give it a three out of five."

Potter looked like he was on the verge of a heart attack - or a tantrum. "What's wrong with you?" he spluttered.

"Well, I spent last night as a fucking wolf," Draco said slowly, "and I ate a bat. A whole, _raw_ bat. With _wings_. The Pack chased me half-way across the county, bit me and knocked me about, and a Muggle did his best to murder me with his vehicle. His very big, very fast, very _heavy_ vehicle. I woke up in a pile of werewolves. _Naked_ werewolves." He shot his meanest look at Lupin. "One of whom was practically _humping _my_ leg_. And then I tried to _eat_ _Greyback_. And then you hexed me - _three fucking times_. Oh, and did I mention that I'm a _fucking werewolf_? I'm _wonderful_, Potter. Absolutely fucking _spiffing. _Never been better."

"So, you're a werewolf. Big deal! So's Lupin! He's been nothing but nice to you, and you're…you're treating him like dirt!"

The door clicked shut as Lupin made his escape. _Coward. _"I didn't ask him to be _nice_. And I didn't ask him to feel sorry for me. He pities me. _You _pity me. Am I so fucking _weak_?"

Potter stared at him, lost for words. It didn't last for long.

"What do you think?" he spat. "Actually, I think you're one of the strongest people I've ever met, but you'd never guess it when you get that 'woe is me, I'm a monster' attitude!" That hit home. Draco clenched his fists. What the hell did Potter know about it, anyway? "Guess what? You're not the only person with problems! AND YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO HAD A BAD NIGHT!" Potter took a deep breath. "People _died_."

"And? It's _war_. That happens a lot in war. They're better off out of it."

Potter made a frustrated noise. Draco watched that exhilarating anger mutate into something else. "WHY DON'T YOU GET IT!" A wild wave of his arm caught a vase; he didn't even seem to notice as it smashed on the floor. "Is your father better off out of it?"

"_Don't you dare!_" Draco was on his feet before he realised what he was doing. The room span around him, but he remained focused on Potter. "Don't you fucking _dare_!"

"There must have been something I could have done." Potter was looking at him, but Draco got the impression that he wasn't really seeing him. "I should've been able to -" Supposedly Perfect Potter was shaking, and it was horrible to watch. Where was the moronic optimism? The couldn't-stop-him-with-a-direct-meteor-strike determination? He reached out blindly, catching hold of Draco's arms. "Why couldn't I -"

Draco stepped forward, and, feeling incredibly self-conscious and half-expecting to get thumped, rested his chin against Harry's shoulder. He closed his eyes, not wanting to look at him like this. _Why can't he just be glad to be alive? Why is he tormenting himself over people he doesn't even know? _"Idiot."

Potter's arms clamped around him like a vice. Draco squeezed his eyes tighter shut, emotions that were too new and raw welling up inside him.

He wanted to run away. He wanted to break something. Harry's hair tickled his face. It smelled of smoke and blood; images sprung up unbidden in Draco's head, images of fire and carnage, and he cursed his vivid imagination. He could feel every shudder pass through Harry's body, his tensed-to-breaking-point muscles, his furnace-like heat. He could hear the frantic beat of his heart. Something inside him responded eagerly to the images in his head, his entire body responded to Harry's…and he needed to get away

from him _right now._

"Don't -"

Harry's mouth found the sensitive point where his neck met his shoulder. His fingers dug into Draco's back.

He could break free easily enough. He could toss Harry down on the bed and rip off his clothes and tear him open with his cock and his teeth and his claws -

_Shit._

Harry's fingers tangled in his hair, dragging his head back. The fire that shot through his scalp was echoed in his bones, but the shudder that he tried to suppress had nothing to do with pain. Every inch of him was awake and alive, and it was so frustrating that Potter could do this to him every…single…time…

Harry tried to mash their mouths together. Draco snapped his head back so fast he heard the bones in his neck click, but at least he bit thin air rather than Harry's lip. His mouth was watering.

He was so _hungry_…

Harry bit at his jaw. He was still shaking, but his fingers were hard and sure as they pressed into the muscles of Draco's back, then moved lower, finding their access to skin blocked by the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. He made a strange noise, half curse, half sob, and roughly yanked them down.

Draco clenched his fists, feeling his own nails slice into his palms. Potter clung to him, grinding up against him as if he was trying to force their two bodies into one through sheer willpower alone. Draco felt his eyes roll as his back arched and his head fell back, tension crawling up his spine and tightening his limbs. The press and rub of denim against his cock should have been painful, but the discomfort just seemed to add to his excitement. He _needed_ this. He needed it like he needed to breathe…

And he couldn't do _anything_. He couldn't kiss Harry because he wanted to bite. He couldn't touch him because he wanted to claw. Responding in _any_ way would mean leaving Harry a bloody, broken mess on the floor - and god, he wanted that. He was appalled by how much he wanted that.

_I don't want to be like this._ _I'm _not _like this. _

He frantically twisted his body. Harry tried to hold on to him; one of his legs hooked around Draco's in the brief struggle, Draco's half-shed pyjama bottoms got twisted around his knees, and they both lost their balance. Draco found his face buried in crisp white sheets, Harry's arms still locked around him. He felt that crushing embrace loosen, Harry freeing a hand to fumble with his trousers, then the hot, wet tip of Harry's cock slid against the back of his thigh.

_I'm not like _them.

Harry could let out his pain and frustration, but Draco couldn't…he didn't dare…

_Fuck, this is so unfair. _He twisted his fingers into the sheets. His body was still telling him that this was a battle; his brain was pointing out that Potter didn't have many compunctions about hurting him even when he was in his right mind…and why the hell did that thought excite him so much? "Don't…let…go…" _Keep me pinned, or you'll really regret it -_

He barely managed to stifle a scream as Harry pushed into him. At least it was echoed by a pained curse from the other boy. _Idiot. Fucking _idiot. Harry pulled out abruptly - and that almost hurt more than it had going in. "_Bastard._" _Don't you dare stop._ Trembling fingers parted his cheeks, and he couldn't help the shiver that ran through him as he felt the tip of a wand touch his abused hole.

Just when and how had he come to trust Potter so much?

A shocking coolness spread inside him. And at least Harry used his fingers this time - even if it was only to help his aim -

Draco wasn't even sure how he'd made the noise that was forced from his throat. Yes, it hurt, but -

- damn it, whatever hex Harry had put on him, he had to learn it.

Wild, blistering heat crackled up his spine with every thrust. He pushed back against the invading thickness and felt as if he was being torn open, but he could take it. Would gladly take it, over and over again, until there was nothing left but Harry slamming into him, Harry's arms locked around his chest… He'd never felt so exposed and raw…

His eyes burned, and he squeezed them shut. With every movement his cock rubbed up against a wonderfully-placed crease in the sheets; sensation and emotion whirled together until he could no longer tell them apart, and he was going to crack open -

Harry made a sound like a sob. Draco broke. He came on the pristine sheets, fingers digging deep into the mattress, choked by his own emotions, blackness bleeding into his vision -

He came to with his face still pressed against the sheets, Harry still clinging to him - but he'd pulled out. Draco felt oddly bereft.

"Well," he said, slightly shocked at how hoarse his voice sounded, "at least you managed to hold out longer this time. And that's quite good, um, rhythm you've got there." Harry didn't say anything. He wasn't asleep, was he? Because he was still trembling.

Draco forced himself to move. Even peeling the sheets from his front and wriggling around in Harry's arms was almost too much effort. "I gave you a comp-li-ment, Potter. Shouldn't you be preening?"

Harry used his movement as an excuse to make the embrace even closer. "Thanks," he muttered. Draco swore.

_Oh, for fuck's sake. I want the sanctimonious prick back._

"Are you still moping?" He attempted a shrug. "C'est le guerre. That's _war_, Potter." If Harry tightened his arms any further, something was going to get crushed. "People die. Bad things happen." He buried his nose in Harry's hair as he continued to shake. "Fine, 'compassion' - it's seriously overrated as a virtue, but I know you can't help having it." Harry made a noise that was almost a laugh; Draco wasn't sure if that was a good thing. "But you can't take on everybody's loss - it's not your responsibility, and it's not your _right_. And you'll only drive yourself mad if you try."

* * *

Harry didn't know how long he lay there, his body sated, his mind still whirling. He found his hands moving over Draco's body again, tracing the bumps of his ribs, the sharp points of his hipbones, his long, whipcord muscles.

_I hurt him._ The whole morning seemed to have become a blur in Harry's head, but that bit stood out with horrible clarity. _But he seemed to _like _it?_

He touched the pendant Draco wore, the dull silver warmed by his skin. St Christopher - patron saint of travellers. That was new, and surely a bit too Muggle for Draco? _Perhaps Lupin gave him it. _The sharp stab of jealousy Harry felt was stupid and unworthy, and he knew it.

He ran his fingers over the twisted mess of red, hardened skin on Draco's shoulder, then traced the thin pink ridge of the scar Harry himself had created. It started on his neck, and ended just below his hip bone, dipping into pale curls. On his belly it was crossed by angry red lines, as if Greyback had tried to claw it away.

_He's been through so much._

Draco sighed in his sleep and lazily batted Harry's hand away.

Draco had as much - _more _- reason to break down as anyone, and he'd ended up comforting _Harry_.

It wasn't going to happen again. That decision did as much to chase away the hollow, desperate helplessness as any amount of kind words.

Only Draco hadn't managed any kind words, had he? Harry felt a grin stretch his face. He wound his fingers in Draco's impossibly soft, fine hair. The numbness had certainly gone away; Harry felt so much it hurt.

He felt a prickle of magic in the air around him. It caught hold of him, lifting him away from the sheets -

Gwffy blinked, almost going cross-eyed as he stared at the tip of Harry's wand. Draco stretched, sleepily rubbing what seemed like every inch of that lithe, leggy body up against Harry, and caught hold of the sheet.

Harry lowered his wand, still shaking with adrenalin.

"Sirs! Gwffy must keep things clean!"

Draco made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Shoo."

Gwffy looked almost outraged. He snapped his fingers. The messy sheets disappeared, replaced by crisp new ones. He let the two boys drop a little too abruptly; Draco bounced off the bed, kicking off his pyjama bottoms and grabbing up his wand in one smooth motion. Gwffy made a strategic retreat.

"You better not have been watching us, you little pervert!"

Harry retrieved his glasses from the floor. He let his gaze drift over Draco's body, and choose not to tell him that vibrating with injured dignity while stark bollock naked with dried come on his arse didn't really work… Well, maybe it did, because certain things were wobbling in a rather appealing way -

The laughter bubbled up and burst free before he could stop it. Draco spun around. "You find me amusing, Potter?" The words were harsh, but a strange expression crossed his face as Harry kept laughing. His mouth twitched into a grin.

Harry stood up - and teetered as his jeans wrapped around his ankles. Draco caught him. "Welcome back, idiot," he mumbled.

Harry wrapped his arms around him and kissed him, hard.

* * *

Harry stepped out of the panelling with lazy euphoria singing in his blood and a severe case of goodwill to all men. It faded as he walked past the makeshift beds. He'd never paused to wonder why Draco had got his own room - with a sudden shock, he realised.

_Werewolf. _

_Though in a month's time quite a few people here will be too._

The room was quiet except for the odd snore; Livia had been rather liberal with the sleeping potion. Harry wondered if he should ask for some himself; his body was exhausted, but he suspected sleep would be difficult.

His legs trembled, and he reached out a hand to steady himself. Beneath his fingers, two knights met each other in mortal combat. Harry flinched and closed his eyes. He needed to find Ron and Hermione. They were his friends, they'd both given up so much to support him, and they deserved to know what he'd decided. And perhaps they could help him figure out just what the hell he was supposed to do about it.

Draco should be told too - but even the thought of trying to explain to Draco that he wasn't going to kill Voldemort made something inside Harry shrivel up and die. No, Ron and Hermione would definitely be more understanding.

Well, hopefully.

Harry sighed. As he stepped out into the corridor something lit up above his head, turning the dust motes in the air around him into a thousand points of drifting light. He stopped and looked up.

Nestled into the arched stone ceiling was a single white rose, real and alive but every petal glowing so brightly it almost hurt to look at it.

"Well, well, Harry _sub rosa._" Hermione hefted the books she was holding into a better position under her arm and smiled at him. "I was just coming to look for you. I thought you'd like to see the cup destroyed."

Finally, they could destroy another Horcrux. The good news lifted Harry's mood. He also let himself feel some relief that they'd run into each other in the corridor. Hermione coming up to Draco's room could have been really embarrassing for all concerned.

Of course, Harry going in search of Ron and Hermione could have had the same result, if on a lesser scale. Ron and Lavender's full-on make-out sessions in the Gryffindor common room had been excruciating, but they'd never made Harry feel as uncomfortable as he had witnessing that one small kiss. He was happy for them, but he felt like he'd intruded on something private and special.

As they walked away the glow faded, until the rose was translucent and almost invisible against the stonework. "What does the rose do?"

"It enforces confidentiality," Hermione said. "Anything said beneath it cannot be repeated elsewhere. Isn't it wonderful that such an old spell is still being used?" she continued brightly. "This whole place is fascinating. Did you know that it's less than a hundred years old? The Bythells are very much New Blood, but they're trying to present themselves as much older." Harry stared at her. She smiled at him, and he told himself that he'd imagined the subtle hint of scorn in her voice.

"Draco doesn't seem very impressed with them," he said, and it was just a reply, something to fill the silence, not a test at all…

"Is he ever impressed by anything other than himself?"

Harry laughed. "Sometimes."

He followed Hermione up some spiralling stairs and into a room even smaller than Draco's. Ron's snores greeted them before they even opened the door; he was sprawled out on the couch, dead to the world.

The table was piled high with open books. Harry picked up a notebook. Its pages were filled with Hermione's neat handwriting, and here and there she'd drawn a strange symbol, more complex than the runes they'd learned at school. She shrugged when he looked at her. "I've been working out some spells. They didn't teach us Horcrux destruction at school, you know." She picked up a glass jar with runes scratched all over its surface.

"They should add it to the curriculum."

The joke flew straight over Hermione's head. "There's a lot they don't teach us," she said, opening the jar. Harry caught the scent of something foul. "History of Magic is particularly bad. Binns leaves out so _much. _And all the wand-work we do, when there are forms of magic out there so much more powerful and interesting? They could at least do an introductory class on ritual magic."

Harry frowned. The only ritual magic he'd ever seen had been performed by Voldemort and Wormtail - which told him all he needed to know about it.

Hermione put Hufflepuff's cup in the jar and screwed the lid back on. Harry looked at the notebook in his hand. Two words jumped up at him, written extra large and underlined. _**Sacrifice. Transformation.**_ A chill slipped down his back.

"It's really no wonder that the Wizarding World has become so weak," Hermione said calmly."Malfoy and his kind make such a fuss about being better than Muggles, but what have they done recently? The Wizarding World steals Muggle inventions, while making no advancements of its own. They locked the Wild magic away from the world, and for what? To become insular, hedonistic, parasitic and _pathetic_." She looked at her wand with distaste as she tapped it against the jar.

Wild fire exploded into being inside the jar, large flames that hissed as if they were alive and spun and danced around the cup in a vicious dance that mirrored Harry's horrified thoughts. The cup blackened and melted. The runes on the jar glowed. Harry felt a stab of pain in his head, and heard the whisper of a fair-away scream.

"It's okay, Harry. The runes will hold the fiendfyre in the jar, and I've put a Sealing Charm on it for when it's done."

There was something else on the table, half hidden amongst the books. Harry saw a glint of bone as Hermione reached out to touch it. And he suddenly _knew_.

He reached out to grab Ron's shoulder, but his rough shake only made his friend grunt and snore louder. "What have you done to him?"

"He needs the sleep." Hermione sounded hurt - but she wasn't really _Hermione_, was she? The smell from the jar made his eyes water; he remembered the witch he'd seen in the fire. The magic he'd felt then had seemed familiar…

He remembered the grotto walls exploding into shards under his hands, and teetering Imperiused on the edge of the Grand's third floor landing…

_That was…_

"You…tried to kill me?" Every bit of the pain and betrayal he felt came out in those five words. It wasn't possible…Hermione would never… _But she's not herself._

"_No!_ Harry, I…" Hermione sighed. "You don't understand."

* * *

There were too many mirrors. Multiple copies of Draco glared back at him as he stepped down into the bathtub, and showed him his weakness as he slumped into the water. Still, there was a bright side, he decided as he massaged Bythell's most expensive shampoo into his hair. When Harry arrived he'd get a three hundred and sixty degree view of Potter nudity and that was a much more appealing prospect.

Each and every one of his reflections broke into the same leer. Lazy warmth pooled in his muscles as he rinsed his hair and stretched out in the bath, The smell of bergamot drifted up from the foam as the hot water did its work, easing his tired body. Every inch of it hurt, but now it wasn't in a bad way.

God - he could still _feel _him. He ran his hands over bruises left by overeager fingers, over nipples still sore to touch, over swollen lips…and with every movement, he was painfully aware of his stinging arse and that hot ache inside him.

Fuck's sake - now he was ready to go again -

_Suffering from Full Moon Blues and feelings of Inhumanity? Try Chosen One Cock, applied vigorously at regular intervals. _

Draco snorted. Fine, so he was going mad - that was hardly new. He curled his fingers around his cock and gave it a lazy tug.

Perhaps when the Full Moon had passed he'd be in better control of himself, and they could try it the other way around. Potter was the curious type - he had to be wondering what it felt like. Even if he was reluctant, Draco was certain that a couple of pokes at Harry's over-developed sense of fair play would be enough to get him spread out on the bed with his arse in the air.

The thought of _that _made his balls ache. His fingers tightened, his back arched - and something moved inside his head.

Draco froze, still clutching his rapidly softening cock.

_What the hell?_

He turned his attention inwards, ignoring the dissipating fantasies and turning the full force of his formidable mind back onto itself.

_That's -_

Draco had always known his own mind. Compartmentalising his thoughts and feelings had been second nature to him even before he'd gone to Hogwarts, and his Occulmency training had changed that undisciplined ability into a real power. When he visualised his mind, he saw it as a cluttered attic room, filled to bursting with treasured memories and jealously hoarded grudges. His Occulmency shields were paper screens emblazoned with the Malfoy crest, easily moved to subtly divert intruders away from their targets and trap them in petty thoughts of putting bubotuber pus into Nott's pumpkin juice and how pink frills made Pansy look like an oversized Pygmy Puff. The back of his mind held a towering heap of battered old school trunks, where his more painful memories and uncomfortable emotions were carefully locked away. And it was there that that alien presence was lurking, a dark mass of anger, pain and hunger that felt Draco's attention turn towards it and exulted in his fear.

_- impossible…_

However hot the water was, it couldn't fight the icy chill that spread through him. He sat there shaking, the last shreds of his arousal gone, his eyes staring blankly at the mirrors and the living pomegranate trees that formed their frames but no longer really seeing them, totally transfixed by the monster inside his head.

It was the wolf.

While he'd been transformed, Draco had been vaguely aware of the wolf as a separate entity, and himself as a mere passenger in its head - albeit with a Wolfsbane-gifted ability to steer. Now their positions were reversed, and the Potion was wearing off…it was no longer tame, and its wants and needs were bleeding out into him. A tiny flicker of relief - earlier, with Harry, the things Draco had wanted to do…that hadn't been him, _wasn't _him - was smothered by panic.

It was inside his _head._

He heard a whimper that had to have come from his own mouth, embarrassingly loud - but not so loud as the creak of floorboards outside the door -

_The door._

Draco forced his attention back outwards, trying not to cringe as he mentally turned his back on the beast. His cheeks were wet, and he roughly scrubbed his eyes free of tears as the door clicked open. He'd be damned if Potter was going to catch him crying in another bloody bathroom -

It wasn't Potter.

"I never thought I'd have to entertain a Malfoy," Bythell said. "Or _werewolves_. I honestly don't know which is worse." He shut the door behind him, and Draco fought the urge to sink down lower in the water. "I hope you're enjoying my hospitality."

"You're an abysmal host, Bythell. But you already know that." Draco gave an exaggerated yawn. "What do you want, exactly?"

"What are you doing here?" Bythell didn't even do him the courtesy of not staring at his scars. But coming from such a family of ill-bred parvenus, he could hardly be expected to know any better.

"Potter kidnapped me. He's keeping me as his sex slave." Draco put his arm to his forehead and did what he thought was a passable parody of a violated maiden. "Save me, please!"

Bythell's mouth twisted in disgust. "You haven't changed." But a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face as he looked at Draco. His gaze settled on Draco's arm - and stayed there, even as Draco let it drop, stretching his arms along the rim of the tub. His left arm, Draco realised - Bythell was staring at his left forearm. There were no prizes for guessing what had caught his attention.

Draco leered at him. When it wasn't burning, he could almost forget he even had the Mark, but it was good to know it hadn't lost its power to intimidate. "You know," he drawled, "I could ask you the same thing. Why are you here?"

Bythell rallied and smirked at him. "It's my house."

"You know what I mean."

Bythell studied him for a moment. Draco could almost see the cogs in his head turning; he always did have more money than brain cells. "The advantages outweigh the risks," he said simply. That should have been a cue for another crack about Livia, but Draco didn't say anything. He really couldn't see any 'advantages' to choosing either side, but at least Bythell had got to make a choice. For the first time Draco actually envied the guy - and that was disgusting. "You -" Bythell broke off, his gaze returning inexorably to Draco's arm, then started again. "You're the last person I expected to find with the Order," he said in a rush - and was that a touch of accusation in his voice? "Your father -"

"Is dead." Draco kept his voice cold and matter-of-fact; the feelings that surged up inside him were anything but. Bythell, with his untouched home and easy choices, this upstart whom his father wouldn't have even acknowledged in the street - how did he even have the nerve to mention him, to stand there and _judge_ Draco? He felt his face twist. Bythell met his eyes and took an involuntary step back. "You don't know me," Draco snarled.

The beast surged out of its hiding place. He could feel its stinking presence at the forefront of his mind, and it was almost as if it had torn open all the trunks in its rush, because the memories it brought with it were amongst his worst.

He thought of his father, his body limp and cold on the stone table; Bellatrix and her cadaver; Inferi clambering over the playground wall; Potter on the stretcher, his black hair turned grey by the rock dust; dark shapes huddled in the gutter; Greyback ruffling Rolf's hair; his mother's hand clamped around his arm, as if she could tear the Dark Mark off with her fingers; parchments covered in names; Dumbledore, his body outlined in green light before it fell; the slashed portraits; Snape carefully unhooking Draco's fingers from his robes as Draco cried and begged, all pride and dignity gone as the cell door slammed shut between them; the stench of the Dementor's breath; Harry's eyes, shadowed and empty…

Draco sucked in a deep breath and turned his Occulmency shields back in on himself, desperately trying to buy himself some time, a chance to maintain his dignity. "You don't know what you're getting into." He forced his mouth into a grin, knowing it must look terrible. "Run now, while you have the chance."

Bythell's eyes were locked on his, and whatever he'd seen there had made them wide and terrified. "Run _where_?" he whispered. And that was the big question, wasn't it? His fingers fumbled for the door knob, and he made one last attempt to regain his composure. "You've got ink on your chest." His robes swished against the tiles as he turned on his heel and exited the room a hell of a lot faster than he'd come in.

Draco looked down at himself. There was a black smudge on his skin, all around the St Christopher. The pendant itself had gone black. Sudden panic gave him the strength to lock the memories away, and he felt the beast slink back into its dark corner, oozing amusement as he slipped the pendant off and examined it. The blackness had the feel and consistency of wet ink, and it came off on his fingers, running into the lines and whirls until his fingertips looked like contour maps.

_It's broken. Oh, fuck…_

Life-line or leash, the St. Christopher had at least been a way to keep in contact with Snape. Without it Draco was truly on his own, and the thought was terrifying. Would Snape think that he'd been betrayed, that Draco had broken it on purpose? Would the Dark Lord think he'd defected?

_Oh god… Mother…_

His fingers jerked shut around the pendant, its bevelled edges digging into his palm. More of the black liquid burst free - lots of it, too much, running down over his wrist and forearm as if he'd smashed an ink bottle in his hand.

"_Fuck!_" He threw the useless thing away from him as hard as he could. It bounced off one of the mirrors, cracking it in the process, and dropped onto the tiled floor with a clatter that sounded almost mocking.

_Seven years of bad luck…_

Laughter forced its way out of his throat, becoming half snort, half sob as he tried to suppress it. The water, once so relaxing, felt as constricting as a straightjacket, and his fingernails left gouges in the smooth tiles as he hauled himself out of the bath, trying to breathe. And the thing in his head purred, reminding him of how pointless it all was - how most of what he so badly needed to escape was actually inside him, bound up in his blood, capable of transforming his body, prowling around inside his _mind_.

Draco lifted his head and howled, pouring all his frustration, all his fear and all his anger into the sound. Pain shot through his fingers as he deliberately cracked and splintered the tiles. Then a tiny sound caught his attention. He froze, completely still apart from his widening eyes as he watched the ink pouring out of the pendant and streaming up the mirrored wall. The words it formed were in Snape's very distinctive handwriting and he couldn't help a cautious flicker of hope rising inside him.

_**It appears the games are over. **_The ink flowed apart and reformed. **_The Dark Lord has ordered you to return. _**

That was good, wasn't it? He'd be on his own territory, in control of his own fate…

…well away from Potter and all his strange ideas…

_**He expects you to bring Harry Potter with you. **_

The words seemed to dance before Draco's eyes, merging together in his vision even before they started to change again.

_Okay, so breaking the mirror was a bad idea…_

He started to laugh again. This time he let it out, the harsh, bitter sound echoing around the empty room. His chest tightened, and the laughter tasted no better than the bile that rose in his throat.

_**Ten o'clock tonight, Draco. Failure is not an option. Even if you don't value your own head, I trust you to consider Narcissa's - and my own, naturally. **_

The last line was hardly necessary. The Dark Lord valued knowledge of his minions' weaknesses - and he knew Draco's all too well…

The laughter turned into a strangled sob, but his fists clenched, his knuckles grinding into the tiles. His scattered, panicky thoughts rushed together, reforming into cold ruthless clarity. It seemed the Dark Lord didn't know _all_ his weaknesses.

Because Draco rather liked Harry's head, too, and had no intention of seeing it separated from his body.

The words dissolved and the ink dripped down the mirror.

Draco had never hated the stupid bastard more.

A light draft ruffled his wet hair. He saw a quick flicker of movement in the mirror, and grabbed his wand -

The first Stunner only winded him.

The second was rather more effective.

* * *

The bone circlet sat amongst the books. "That thing's a Horcrux, isn't it?" And now it seemed so obvious. Voldemort certainly hadn't been the first to make a Horcrux - just the first to take the idea so far.

Hermione's hands clenched into fists against the battered wood of the tabletop. "This is all such a mess," she said, her voice catching on some unknown emotion. "Would you believe me if I told you that I can control it?"

"_It_?" Harry moved along the wall, keeping his distance. He still felt stupid, aiming his wand at _Hermione_, of all people, but underneath the brimstone and ashes scent of the fiendfyre he was sure he could smell the sea.

"_Her_, then." Harry half expected to see an evil grin on her face, and a different person looking out of her eyes, but her expression was sad and soft. The tears in her eyes glittered in the flickering light. "I didn't know that she wanted to hurt you, Harry - please believe me."

Of course he believed her. He had so many questions jostling for space in his head, but that was one he'd never need to ask. "How long have you known?" _Why didn't you tell us? How could you take this risk, after what happened with Ginny?_

"For certain? Not until last night."

Harry thought back to the Old Schoolhouse. Lucius Malfoy's behaviour then was suddenly not quite as bizarre. "_He _knew - Lucius fucking Malfoy. He set this up." His fingers tightened on his wand. God, he wished Malfoy was still alive - if only so he could give him a well-deserved punch to the face. _And he sent his own son to get the circlet - what the _hell_?_

Hermione's shoulders straightened; she blinked away the tears. "The only wizard powerful enough to take Voldemort on is dead," she said, her voice calm. "We can beat his minions all we like, but if we can't face him directly then we've already lost. Evadne has knowledge we can use, and power -"

"AND SHE'S MESSING WITH YOUR HEAD!" Harry couldn't listen to this. He eyed the circlet; all he had to do was destroy it and he could make this stop - he could have his friend back -

"I'd be dead now if wasn't for her. She taught me how to dispose of Horcruxes safely -"

"She made you kill!" The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them - he couldn't keep the accusation out of his voice, and Hermione looked away, her eyes filling with tears again.

"I_ killed, to protect her - and you." _Harry heard that silky voice in his head, and gagged at the smell filling his nostrils._ "Is that so very evil, Son of_ _Gryffindor?" _

The fiendfyre in the jar spat and hissed as the Sealing Charm activated. He didn't have much time before it would be gone - and his best chance to dispose of the circlet would go with it.

Cold burned his fingers as he snatched the bone circlet from the table. Images flashed through his head - a little girl cowering in the corner of a wooden shack; two wizards casting spells at each other across a very familiar courtyard; a woman screaming as flames consumed her; dozens of galleys tossed about on storm-swelled waves; blond-haired children playing on a beach; tarot cards swept off a table in a fit of rage…and water, all around him, tinted pink with his blood. When he tried to breathe, his lungs burned with pain.

Flames spiralled up into the room as he tore the lid off the jar. He felt the tip of a wand touch the back of his neck.

"I can't let you do that, Harry. I'm sorry."


End file.
